


Dead Moon

by errihu



Series: Dead Moon and Frozen Sun [1]
Category: Bleach, World of Warcraft
Genre: Arrancar, Battle Scenes, Crossover, Explicit Sex, F/M, Violence, World of Warcraft: Wrath of the Lich King, stuck in another world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-06-03 10:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 51,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19461766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/errihu/pseuds/errihu
Summary: A botched scroll of recall deposits a night elf Death Knight in Hueco Mundo. Vellena Nightwind can see all kinds of parallels between her world and this one - and they're the parallels Aizen wants. Grimmjow, on the other hand, just wants to have fun. Set in Arrancar Arc/Wrath of the Lich King.





	1. Always Double Check Your Scrolls

**Author's Note:**

> This is a republication of a work I originally posted on the other ff net site. I've received some requests to post it here. I will be posting chapters every couple of days or so. The work has been re-edited, a number of issues cleared up with punctuation (particularly punctuation around dialogue), but if you spot something that isn't just Canadian English, please point it out to me and I'll attend to it. The sequel, _Frozen Sun_ will start to roll out after this one has been completely posted.

Vellena Nightwind sighed from her deathcharger Coldgaze’s back. She’d clearly taken a wrong turn somewhere. Instead of Icecrown, she had somehow ended up in Storm Peaks, and she didn’t know the way to civilization. This wouldn’t normally bother her, but she was due with a report for Thassarian in two days. Routine, but important nonetheless. Like all Death Knights, Vellena did her duty. Being unable to galled her.

There was a storm blowing up, and it wasn’t going to be a good one. While Vellena could withstand the cold a lot better than most due to being undead, it would still add even more time to her travel. At this point, it would almost be a better idea to just go back to Dalaran and pay for a gryphon to Thassarian. After the last time through Naxxramus, her armour bill had left her a little strapped, but she would be even more in the hole if she had to pay a late penalty. It was _always_ worth it to kill Arthas’ minions, but the cash situation was getting dire. Unfortunately, Death Knights had to pay like everyone else.

She dismissed Coldgaze, who evaporated to wherever acherus deathchargers went when Death Knights weren’t riding them. She pulled out the scroll take her back to Dalaran and began to read, then grinned in triumph as she was wrenched through the twisting nether, out of harm’s way. In the chaos of transport, she thought it took longer than usual. Was something wrong? But no – she was rematerializing now.

But instead of the familiar sights and sounds of Dalaran, the scene that greeted her eyes as she regained the physical world was totally alien. Vellena tried to figure out what went wrong. All around her were endless white sand dunes, above her was a black sky, and strangest of all was a single moon partially eclipsed by a smaller heavenly body, hanging in the sky like a child’s drawing of a crescent moon. As she pieced together her surroundings, she realized that she had indeed forgotten to replenish her supply of the better quality recall scrolls; and that she had likewise forgotten to sell the lesser quality scroll she had generated with her glyph research. And now she was somewhere completely different – and that was her last scroll of any kind.

Nothing but the same in all directions – no, wait! Off in the distance to her right was a moderate-sized white building. At least, that’s what it looked like. She had no way to judge distances here, but honestly, how large could it be?

But wait? Cursing herself for a fool, stopped dead in her tracks and attempted to open a gate to Ebon Hold. To her surprise, nothing happened. It was like there was some force blocking her death gate. She then tried to summon Coldgaze, with about as much success. The Death Knight ground her teeth. Her hearthstone had the same effect. Wherever she was, she’d taken a one-way trip.

Several hours of walking later, and Vellena was no closer to the building than before. It hadn’t grown appreciably larger either. She halted, gazing into the distance with a sigh. She had food and water in her magic bags, of course, but if that thing was as far away as she was beginning to think, it might not last. Being dead, she could go a lot longer without the “necessities of life” – food, water, air… but eventually she would have to consume something to replenish her energy. And she had seen _nothing_ out here even remotely edible – no plants, no animals, just crystalline ‘trees’ and sand. She had revised her original estimate – whatever that building was, it was _huge_ , and it was more than a few days away by foot. Well, she would be late. There was no doubt about it now. She hoped the missive _was_ as routine as they told her, because Thassarian wasn’t going to get it. It burned her insides, but there wasn’t much she could do about it now.

Her head whipped to the side as she heard an uncanny howl. Narrowing glowing blue eyes, she spotted a rapidly approaching figure. She drew her massive axe – an enormous, skull-covered monstrosity that had served some Titan as a throwing axe, and now served her well enough.

The creature’s howling grew louder as it streaked towards her. The night elf could make out a black body with a hole in the chest, and a face with a bony white… _mask_? It raised its misshapen limbs as it neared, claws flashing. Definitely hostile.

Vellena gestured sharply, and a lash of deathly energy whipped out from her hands and pulled her opponent close, lashing out with her heavy axe across its mask. It had time to give off its unnerving howl one more time before it dematerialized, sliced in half and blowing away into dust as she watched with mild surprise. _Weak…_ Vellena thought.

Then, she heard another howl…

\----

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez threw his door open and glared angrily at the números dashing back and forth down the hall. Angry at the disturbance, he grabbed one by the shoulder. A terrified eye in a mask rolled over to meet his.

“What’s fucking going on?” the Sexto Espada demanded.

“Someone said there were intruders,” said the número.

“Grimmjow. Aizen has called a meeting. You are to attend.” The emotionless voice of Ulquiorra Cifer, the Cuarto, interrupted the blue-haired arrancar’s interrogations. Grimmjow released the número, who dashed off.

“Fine,” huffed the Sexto, rolling his shoulders. He fucking hated this bullshit. Aizen and his stupid tea and stupid meetings. Grimmjow would rather do something _constructive_ with his time, like staring at the _wall_ , but he followed his superior without comment.

The two Espada joined the others as they all made their way to the meeting room. They took their seats uncomplainingly, though Grimmjow was pretty sure he wasn’t the only one who was pissed off inside. The other faces around the table showed varying levels of disengagement and annoyance. Except for Starrk, of course. He was face down in a puddle of his own drool, snoring. Typical. Grimmjow squelched a stab of envy.

Sousuke Aizen waited with his hand curled around a cup of tea. Once all the Espada were seated and relatively quiet, he nodded to Ichimaru Gin. The ever-smiling vulpine ex-shinigami began to speak.

“Several hours ago, a disturbance was recorded around the vicinity of tunnel 31. We were not able to monitor the cause at that time, and whatever it was seemed to cause no further trouble for several hours. Then it apparently attracted the attention of the local hollow population, which proceeded to attack it. It’s been making its way across Hueco Mundo for the last few hours, fighting more or less non-stop ever since. At this moment, it has killed countless lesser hollows, at least six Gillian, and two Adjuchas.” Gin paused to let this sink in, and then continued. “We do not know if this is an invasion force or a single individual. We do not think it is a shinigami. No garganta or other known means of transport were reported in the area.”

Grimmjow shifted in his seat. This sounded like it might be less boring than sitting around Las Noches, antagonizing the números. He didn’t want to volunteer for anything, but…

“I would like two Espada to investigate and detain the cause of the disturbance. Ulquiorra, you will go to observe and record your findings.” Aizen said. The Cuarto nodded, silent. “Grimmjow, you will take a contingent of números and detain the invading party. If possible, you will return any and all members, preferably alive, to Las Noches for interrogation.”

Preferably alive, well, that took some of the fun out of it. And he was saddled with stupid números. Oh well, it got him out of this boring place at least. “I got it,” said the Sexto.

“Very well,” said Aizen, “you may leave at once.”

Grimmjow gathered just two of his fracción (he was an Espada, after all, and Ulquiorra was there. Aizen had said _números_ , so more than one, but damned if he was going to bring more than two – and they’d be _his_ ) and followed the Cuarto through a garganta. They exited in the sky, giving them an excellent vantage point of the battle below. And there was definitely a battle below.

At the end of what appeared to be an endless trail of shed blood in the sand was a knot of hollows attacking what appeared to be a single entity. As the arrancar watched, more hollows met their ends at the blade of a gore-covered axe that looked to be nearly the size of the woman wielding it. At least, Grimmjow thought it might be a woman. It was kind of hard to tell at this distance, and… caked in blood like that, and encased in some kind of unfamiliar armour.

He could tell what had drawn the hollows to her. Even from this distance, she radiated a strange energy, one unlike any he had encountered before. It was dark and deadly, reminiscent of clotted blood. Hollows would be drawn to that power, like moths to a flame. And like moths, they would go up in smoke before it.

“That looks like our disturbance.” Grimmjow said, probably unnecessarily. Ulquiorra said nothing, nor did D-Roy or Shawlong. Down below them, a ring of what looked like boiling blood erupted from the sand. Several weaker hollows caught in it shrieked and died. “There seems to be only one. You two, follow its trail and see if there’s any sign of others. Report back at Las Noches. I’m going to stop the party.” The fracción nodded and both booked off, using sonido. Grimmjow allowed himself to drop closer to the sands and the intense melee.


	2. Blood in the Sand

Vellena had been fighting for hours at this point, but that didn't bother her much. She'd fought longer without rest under Arthas, and then again after joining the Ebon Blades. Her only issue at this point was that most of her opponents didn't last long to really entertain her. With her vampiric abilities, she could probably just keep going like this for hours. Runic power blazed from her – she never really got the opportunity to use it all before the intense battle fueled her further.

There had been a few opponents that had lasted satisfyingly long, but those didn't seem to be all that common, unfortunately. Whatever these creatures were, they just kept coming and coming, and were mostly brainless and weak. She'd had to avoid a few unexpected and strange abilities, but really, most of this was all in a day's work for a Death Knight, especially one as accomplished and well armed as Vellena. The few serious injuries she had taken had healed up as she hacked apart more of these endless enemies.

A strange feeling passed through her as she sensed something that felt kind of like a death gate, yet was still very very alien. Pausing for but a moment to look up towards it, she observed four figures stepping out of a hole in the sky. Then she had to get back to her grim work, but she kept part of her attention on the newcomers. She had no idea who or what they were, but she had the feeling that they were to the monsters she was fighting what _she_ was to the average ghoul or skeleton.

After a minute or so, two of the figures took off the way she had come. A third floated gently to the ground nearby. Vellena kept fighting. Then she stopped. So did her opponents. The newcomer had started emitting a very noteworthy force. Some might even call it a terrifying aura, but Vellena had seen a lot of scary shit in her (un?)life. She didn't bat an eye. Not much could terrify a Death Knight. She'd helped hack Kel'Thuzad to pieces in his own fortress. She wouldn't flinch at this.

The other figure approached languidly, striding across the sands, a path opening up between them as monsters desperately shoved out of his way. Vellena could see that it looked mostly human, and male. Mostly, because he had a hole in his stomach and part of a mask on his jaw. And blue hair of a shade she had previously only seen on other night elves. His pale white skin and lack of pointy ears announced that he wasn't one of those either, and she didn't think he was a half-breed.

"Scram," he cocked his head at the monsters surrounding them, still blazing blue energy. To her mild surprise, the monsters immediately started heading out in any direction but near him… and her.

Vellena lowered the blade of her axe and pulled off her helmet, resisting the urge to lick blood off her gauntlet. The human raised a blue eyebrow at her. She shifted her stance, taking advantage of the brief respite to rest on her feet. On the whole she wasn't too concerned – the fact that he hadn't come in with blades swinging spoke for something. Either he was part of the Alliance, or he wasn't hostile.

He continued to advance, making no move to draw the sword she could plainly see he carried, though she had the feeling he'd gleefully battle her if she forced the issue. He walked forward with deadly grace, radiating power, then stopped a few yard in front of her. He was tall for a human, she realized. He was just an inch shy of her height – level if one counted his spiked blue hair, and that was rare in a human. She gazed at him unblinking in her best bored Death Knight stare.

"All right," he said, "What and who the hell are you, and how did you get to Hueco Mundo." It was more of a demand than a question. At least she could understand most of what he said, except for the Hueco Mundo bit, but it was clear he was referring to a place. This place.

"Death Knight Vellena Nightwind of the Ebon Blade," she began, "As to how I got here, I had a recall scroll failure. I am carrying a missive for my superior, and would like to know the best way to Dalaran from here."

His wild blue eyes fixed on her like she had started singing in Taurahe and doing a dwarven river dance.

She tried again. "I'm not one of the Lich King's, you can forget that. And I'm still a night elf – they tell me I was born in Darnassus. All I need right now is to get a portal to Dalaran, or any one of the Alliance cities, really, and be on my way." Behind them, the other figure had come in closer, still floating in the air. "I'm pretty sure I saw you guys come through some kind of portal. I have a few pieces of gold, if that's the problem." She finished, nodding towards the other guy.

Grimmjow wasn't quite sure what to make of the strange-looking female. It was clear she was not shinigami in the slightest, but nor was she human, not with those long, swept-back pointy ears, or the dusky purple shade of her skin, or the muted green of her hair. Or her impressive height – he'd never before been able to look a woman in the eye without having to tilt his head down. Glowing blue eyes gazed impassively at him, positioned among lightning-bolt markings the same colour as her hair. She was wearing heavy metal plate armour in which she appeared to move without impediment; though she and it were liberally coated in blood and gore. She obviously knew how to use her axe – she radiated deadly competency and an aura that was distinctly… deathly. He sensed power in her, enough to be of interest to Aizen for sure. And she might as well be spouting gibberish for all he understood of what she just said.

Oh, he understood most of her words, but he had no idea what a Death Knight, Ebon Blade, or night elf was (though he pieced together that's what _she_ was, he wasn't stupid, thank-you-very-much). Nor did he know who the 'Lich King' was, or where Dalaran or Darnassus were, or what the hell 'alliance' she was talking about. It seemed pretty clear to him, though, that she hadn't intended to end up _here_.

"Vellena Nightwind," he said.

"Vellena," she stated. Her name was like that of westerners, like that of arrancar – with the personal name before the family name. He shrugged.

"I'm Grimmjow Jaegerjaques – Grimmjow works for me. Up there is Ulquiorra Cifer. I never heard of those places. You're in Hueco Mundo. The world of hollows," he stated. She blinked once, and otherwise gave no indication of a reaction.

Then she sighed and seemed to relax somewhat. "Well then, I guess this missive is going to be late, and there's nothing I can do about it. Maybe they'll consider me lost in battle, and have my funeral. Again," she said. He had the feeling that it passed for humor. Her voice was very strange, hollow and echoing, with a timbre like steel against steel.

"I've been ordered to bring you back to Las Noches. Are you going to make a fuss?" Grimmjow asked. "Did you bring anyone else with you when you came?" That ought to take care of duty. He'd be happy to fight her if she insisted, but he was actually pretty curious right now. Besides, she wasn't fresh, and he didn't want to measure himself against a fatigued, injured opponent. Was she injured? He didn't know how much of the blood covering her was her own.

The strange woman shrugged, sticky plate mail clanking. She swung her axe around to her back with ease, and hooked her macabre helmet to her belt loop. "Got nothing better to do," she said. "And it's just me."

Well then, time to go back to Las Noches. He waved Ulquiorra down, and the other Espada landed beside him. "We might as well get going, I'm sure Aizen will want to talk to her," he said to his companion, ignoring the woman – Vellena Nightwind's – calculating gaze on the other arrancar.

"Hn," said Ulquiorra, and gestured. A garganta gaped open. The night elf's attention was glued to the portal. He sensed no fear, merely curiosity.

"Just walk in it," the Sexto said to her. She nodded, and stepped forward.

Seconds later, they were in Las Noches. Ulquiorra had brought them to the detention block. Grimmjow figured it was as good an idea as any – until they knew who and what this person was, she remained a potential enemy. Even if she had come along pretty quietly, he'd seen the long, bloody trail she'd left in the sands, and witnessed her sending a pile of hollows off to their demise. The gods only knew exactly how many hollows she had killed out there. Not that he gave a shit about them, but it spoke of her competence at least.

He walked ahead of her to the door of one of the cells and opened it, gesturing towards it. She walked in without a word, and then stopped.

"I see," she said. What she saw, she didn't elaborate. Grimmjow figured he knew. He shrugged.

"Until we know who you are and what you represent here, these are the best accommodations we can offer you. Food and new clothing will be brought to you, as well as materials with which to clean your gear. Someone will be by to ask you questions sooner or later," he said. His tone was bored and none too concerned. She nodded.

"That is acceptable."

He closed the door behind her, the tall, heavy door shutting with an echoing clang.


	3. An Audience with Aizen

Vellena lounged on the bench, feeling a little strange in the white and black cloth outfit that had been brought to her. True to the blue-haired man's words, stuff had been brought, and then she had been left to her own devices. She'd removed her armour and mostly-ruined clothes, cleaned herself with the warm water and rag, and then cleaned and finished minor repairs on her gear. She would need a forge to repair the worst of the damage, but the armour was still serviceable. Then she dressed in the strange, formfitting white outfit and ate the food. It was cold by then, but really, her arms and armour came first. It beat the Northrend rations she had in her bags.

Then she had put her armour in her bags, silently thanking the magic that allowed her to put sixty pounds of titansteel and other alloy into a bag that weighed no more than a small coin purse. This, she kept on her belt, which she in turn kept under the strange, wide cloth belt her captors(rescuers?) had supplied. They hadn't confiscated any of her gear, and she wasn't going to go completely unarmed. Her axe, she put in the bag and replaced with two runeblades – not _her_ Runeblade, of course, but they would serve if she needed them. _That_ she did not touch.

No sooner had she finished the last bite of strange food, than the door once more swung open. Looking up, she saw that there were again two men. The blue-haired one – Grimmjow – wasn't present, but the shorter one with the half-helmet and green tear markings – Ulquiorra, she remembered – was standing there looking at her expressionlessly. She noted he was missing an eye, and wondered how that happened. The other guy looked more genuinely human, with no sign of bone on his face or any traces of a hole on his body. He had pale skin, silver hair, an unreadable grin, and eyes that didn't seem to open past slits. He was as tall as Grimmjow.

"Ah, I hope ya had enough time to rest. Sounds like ya had a long journey. Well, ya can come with me now. Aizen has some questions for ya," the silver-hair said. Vellena rose and nodded solemnly. The short guy opened up another portal. She considered it. She thought she might be beginning to grasp what he was doing there – it had similarities to the death gate. Then she stepped through.

This time, they ended up in what was clearly an audience room of some variety. It was huge, with a high ceiling. Ranks of strange looking people – not humans but like sky-top and tear-face – lined the room. At the end were two other humans – one dark-skinned man with a visor who stood, and a seated pale-skinned one. Every single individual wore some variant of the white and black uniform she had been given.

She walked silently forward, noting each individual, though seeming to ignore everyone but the two people at the end of the hall. She saw Grimmjow standing among the ranks, and figured he must occupy some position of importance here. Given the massive power she had sensed from him earlier, that was likely.

Vellena came to a stop in front of the brown-haired man, standing straight, eyes forward.

After a moment, he shifted from his languid pose and looked straight into her eyes. She got the impression that this wasn't someone she wanted to mess with, despite his calm demeanor. There was something extremely… formidable… lurking in those brown eyes. Then he spoke. His quiet, almost gentle voice nearly surprised her, but she maintained strict discipline over her body and reactions. There were advantages to being a highly trained, mostly dead soldier. Lack of fear and near-complete control over one's reactions were among them.

"Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?" the man said with a smile.

"My name is Vellena Nightwind. I am a Death Knight of the Ebon Blade, sworn to fight against the Lich King Arthas until death takes me again," she said. Her tone was crisp and matter of fact. If the deathly sound of her voice was unexpected by the man, he didn't show it. Behind her, she sensed some of the spectators shifting – _they_ had not expected it. The visored man shifted slightly, she got the impression that he was not happy with her for some reason. Oh well, one couldn't please everyone, and Vellena didn't see the point in trying.

"Vellena," smiled the man. "I am Aizen Sōsuke. You may call me Aizen. Welcome to Las Noches." So this was the Aizen that Grimmjow had mentioned, she thought. It was clear he was the one running the place. The throne had been a pretty big tip off, as was the deferential manner of every soul in the place. He spoke again. "Now, would you mind answering a few questions?" He sounded pretty reasonable.

"I would not. Provided you do not inquire about those things the Ebon Blades consider to be wartime secrets, I have no objection to answering your questions," she stated. Another angry shift from Visor. Another smile from Aizen. Shuffling from the ranks behind her.

"That won't be a problem, Vellena. I'll start with where you are from..."

True to his word, Aizen did not ask about anything that would have been considered a wartime secret. His questions were general knowledge questions, some history questions, and questions about herself and her people, about Arthas and the undead, the lands she had come from, etc. Vellena had no qualms with any of them and answered all those she could – her memories of what had gone on before her undeath were a little spotty. She indicated which questions she could not answer, and he merely nodded and went on. Most of her answers seemed to surprise the other people there, but Aizen maintained his gentle smiling demeanor. Her belief that he was a very dangerous man was not swayed in the slightest. After what must have been an hour or more of questioning, he stopped. "Do you have any questions, Vellena?" he asked.

"I am not in Azeroth anymore, am I?" she asked. The absence of the constant presence of Arthas attempting to regain control of her mind was a good indication, as was all of the strangeness here, but she had to ask.

"No. You have clearly come from another world, one that is apparently not interlinked with any of ours," he answered.

"I am stuck here then. What happens now?"

Aizen shifted, still smiling. "You are a guest among us, Vellena. I will have my scientist look into returning you to your home. In the meantime, you may do what you like here, provided you do not hinder _our_ war efforts. You see, we have a war of our own, against a deadly enemy. Shinigami, they are called. Death gods. They are not to be underestimated." So, this was not peacetime for Aizen and his people either. Somehow, she was not surprised. She didn't know what shinigami were, but Aizen seemed to suggest they were something like Arthas' forces. Well, she might be useful then.

"If I can be of service, Lord Aizen, I will," the Death Knight stated. Aizen smiled at her, a warm and kindly smile.

"It is not your war, I understand. Nevertheless, your offer is appreciated, and your aid will be accepted," he said. He gazed at the people lining the audience hall. "Grimmjow?"

"Yeah?" came a laconic reply from a voice she remembered. She still did not move. Strength could be perceived in the portrayal of unconcern about what went on beyond one's back. And the Death Knight had the feeling that it was best to be perceived as strong here.

"You will be Vellena's liaison. You are to show her to her room and see to it that she has everything she needs, and to be her guide in Las Noches."

"Che." The man's reply was none too enthusiastic, Vellena thought.

"Aizen-sama! Surely she would be better served with another Espada in that role? Grimmjow is a, shall we say, a _world class—_." Whatever the unknown male speaker was going to say was interrupted by Grimmjow.

"Shut up, Nnoitra. I'll do it. And I'll do a better job of it than _you_ would, spoon-head," Grimmjow snapped. So – she was an imposition, but not one he was willing to relinquish? Amusing. Despite herself, Vellena's lips curled in a close-mouthed smile.

Aizen gestured to someone behind her – she could only assume it was Grimmjow. It was fairly clear that the meeting had been dismissed. She turned to face the other people, some of whom were attempting to look at her, others of whom had apparently gotten tired of hanging around and were leaving. They were a varied bunch – most looked somewhat human, but there were strange hair and eye colours that would look more at home on gnomes, elves, or trolls. Most had fragments of bone somewhere on their head and face. She saw some symbols tattooed on various body parts, the meaning of which was not known to her. Many of the people had coloured facial markings, such as Ulquiorra's green tear tracks, or the teal spots on Grimmjow's lower lids. Some had visible holes, others did not. Although everyone was clearly wearing uniforms, each uniform was unique. That was an odd thought – unique uniforms.

Grimmjow was glaring at a _very_ tall man with black hair and a spoon-shaped hood – that would be spoon-head Nnoitra, she supposed. As she turned to face sky-top, he looked at her out of the side of his eyes and jerked his head towards the entrance. "C'mon let's go." He snarled, giving spoon-head another dirty glare. Wordlessly, Vellena followed him from the hall.


	4. The Halls of Las Noches

For Grimmjow's part, although he hated being ordered around, he had to admit this couldn't be so bad. This 'night elf' looked pretty good now that she'd gotten most of the blood off and out of that armour. It turned out her hair and skin really _were_ the colour he'd seen under the gore earlier – dusky green and purple. The female arrancar uniform suited her strong, buxom form. He wondered if all the girls of her race were as stacked as she was, and found himself grinning at the thought.

It was a long walk to the Espada quarters, and the guest rooms Aizen kept – originally intended, no doubt, to house Vasto Lordes while the ex-captain wooed them into becoming arrancar. Grimmjow considered opening a garganta, but figured the walk might offer him an opportunity to find out more about this … Death Knight. She'd answered Aizen's questions, but he still had a few of his own. Like where the hell her axe went. It was nearly the size of her, damnit! There was no room in an arrancar uniform to hide something like that.

"Hey," he said, looking sideways at the woman keeping pace with him. "What did you do with all your junk? And what's with the swords? Didn't you have an axe?" he asked with his usual boisterous disrespect.

"I have stored my gear in one of my magic bags. I did have an axe. I judged the swords better for close confines," she said. Her voice was still as emotionless as before. What was she, some kind of female Ulquiorra? What a horrible thought. He wondered if he could get a rise out of her. At least she demonstrated some form of strategic thought – Grimmjow agreed that the twin swords would probably be better in the halls of Las Noches than that monster axe. It definitely demonstrated that she hadn't decided to trust them fully yet. He didn't blame her.

"Magic bags, huh. And you fight with more than one weapon? The world you come from must be… real different." He snorted. "I know you talked a bit about it to Aizen, but what the heck are undead really. Are you alive or a spirit being? If you're dead, how did you die?" She didn't smell dead, at least. Grimmjow had a keen sense of smell, keener than he cared to admit to others. He was tired of the catty comments.

"Neither. I am undead. I was killed and brought back to a state somewhere between life and death by Arthas to serve in his army. The undead are perfect soldiers, we do not tire, do not feel pain, do not feel fear, and the living are terrified of us." Same expressionless voice. "I was apparently a priestess in the Argent Dawn, according to others who knew me then. I was killed in action against the Scourge. Arthas and his minions take especial joy in bringing back those who have served the Light. As part of my training, I tortured and slew one of my fellow Priestesses of Elune, as well as countless other beings, both innocent and not." She discussed her own death and the horrific actions she had committed as a nascent Death Knight as though she were discussing which soup to order in a restaurant – without emotion or hesitance.

This Arthas guy sounded like he could give Aizen a run for his money in the Evil Bastard department. Grimmjow was a little impressed. But he wasn't a perfect strategist either, Vellena and a number of other Death Knights had turned against him and vowed to destroy him after he betrayed them – he recalled her story of the Battle for Light's Hope she had related in Aizen's throne room.

"Hn," he said. "So you're undead. You don't eat, you don't feel pain, and all that then?" he asked.

"I _can_ sleep – I do not have to. I enjoy it when I can. When I am damaged, I… feel pain, but not with the immediacy of the living. I ignore it. I can take damage to the point where pain would kill or stun a mortal and keep going. I do not feel fear. I … eat." She paused, and he noticed an expression of her face that reminded him of hungry sharks, a chilling flash of blood thirst in her icy eyes. "All undead… hunger."

Grimmjow was pretty sure right then that he knew what undead hungered for. No wonder they were so terrifying to the living. It seemed there were similarities between hollows and the undead. She had implied that lesser undead were as mindless as lesser hollows. That would make beings like her – Death Knights, analogous to arrancar. Given the fighting prowess and stamina he had witnessed, and the unholy energy she was capable of utilizing, it seemed likely. He felt a certain degree of respect and kinship for this creature beside him.

"It is my turn now, Grimmjow," she stated as she resumed walking. "What is this place, and what are you? And what are Lord Aizen and those other two? You are clearly different."

Ahh, she wasn't stupid, that was for sure. "This is Las Noches, the fortress of the arrancar in Hueco Mundo. This world is one of two places where the living go when they die – the world of hollows. The other is the world of the Shinigami," he began. This was going to be a long story. "I and the others are arrancar – to hollows what you are to the mindless undead that make up the rank and file." She nodded to that after a moment. He continued. "In particular, I am the Sexto Espada." He halted, and she turned to him. He pulled back his jacket, revealing the tattoo on his back.

"I do not understand those terms," Vellena stated. "However I assume they have something to do with that marking, and your rank."

Grimmjow nodded. "Of the ten most powerful arrancar – the Espada – I am numbered six."

"I see," she replied. "Tear-face and spoon-head – they are also Espada?"

Grimmjow had to keep himself from grinding his teeth at the mention of Ulquiorra and Nnoitra. Ulquiorra he could barely stand, and Nnoitra was a hideous pain in the ass. Grimmjow longed for the day he could take his place as Quinto and crush Nnoitra utterly. "Ulquiorra is the Cuatro – the fourth. Nnoitra is the Quinto – fifth," he growled, attempting to bury his animosity. "I recommend you stay clear of the other Espada. Especially Nnoitra."

"What happened to Ulquiorra's eye?"

"Oh he crushed it," the arrancar said lightly. He was a little disappointed to discover no reaction from Vellena. She must truly have lived (unlived?) through some pretty rough shit. "Ulquiorra's eye," his tone expressed dramatic mockery, "sees _all_. He can replay what he sees by crushing the eye. It grows back in a day or two." Just a nod. Nothing fazed this woman. He wondered if he'd get a reaction if he did something to her, like grabbing her ass. He wondered if she'd even feel it. Oh great, now he was thinking about her ass. It was a good thing they were almost to the rooms. He could pack her safely away in her quarters and go off and try to think about something other than women too damn curvy for their own good, with the emotional range of Ulquiorra.

"What about Lord Aizen and the other two. What are they?"

"Ex-shinigami. All three were captains of the Gotei 13 – the shinigami military. Aizen rebelled, and he brought them with him. Ichimaru Gin – that's the silver haired guy, he was captain of the Third Division. Kaname Tousen – the blind one, he was captain of the Ninth Division. Aizen himself was captain of the Fifth," Grimmjow said.

"And why did they rebel?" Ahhh there's the rub. Grimmjow could see parallels between Arthas and Aizen, and suspected that Aizen would prefer Vellena to draw those parallels between Arthas and Soul Society instead. He wasn't going to _lie_ exactly, but he definitely wouldn't be telling the full truth.

"Seireitei has a long history of bad decisions. They've been responsible for the creation of many monstrous beings, most of which they have left to suffer or exterminated only after causing unspeakable torment. They have betrayed those who served them time and time again. Aizen wants to see that ended," he said, staring straight ahead as he spoke. From the periphery of his vision, he saw her stiffen slightly. He would have smiled if he wasn't sure that she'd notice it. Creating monsters, abandoning and betraying them – he suspected he'd hit all her buttons. All of it true – of course – but not the whole truth. She didn't need to know the whole story.

"I see," she said flatly. "These worlds are not so different from my own." There was anger icing in her voice, hidden beneath her careful control. So she could feel something – she could feel rage at least. He could swear he felt the air temperature around her dropping. He was pleased.

They were arriving at the rooms. He halted her. "These are your rooms." At his gesture, the tall door swung outwards, revealing an austere but comfortably appointed set of rooms. "I'm just down the hall. There's a six on my door." He gestured towards his tattoo. "If you need anything, knock on my door. I'll get it for you. Do you need food or anything?" he asked.

She gazed impassively at him. "I do not require food at this time, thank you. I intend to rest, and afterwards, I would like access to a forge in order to properly repair my armour."

A _forge_? Well, he'd see what he could do… "I'll find out about that," he said. "Rest well." As she stepped into her rooms, he nodded once and turned towards his own. He intended to catch some sleep himself. Perhaps he'd dream of long-eared, big-chested purple women.


	5. Forging Through

These rooms were definitely not the rooms of a prisoner. Vellena looked around. While the white on white décor was a little excessive, the rooms were at least comfortable. In the main room was a couch and a table, and some chairs. The other rooms were a sleeping room with a large bed and storage, and a well appointed bathroom. A _very_ well appointed bathroom. She had seen flush toilets before, if rarely, and the sink and bath she understood. The other device gave her a pause until she played with the knobs and discovered that it was basically a standing bath with warm rain.

The Death Knight grinned.

Stripping off the white uniform, she poured herself a hot bath. She fished a bar of harsh lye soap out of her packs and sank happily into the steaming water. A cloth and a bucket of water only got so much grime off one – and undead or not, any night elf appreciated a bath when she could have one. She had been a few days on the road before she got waylaid, and she was extremely grateful for the chance to bathe now.

About an hour later, she had discovered the thick towels (white with black trim, of course) and had wrapped herself up in the terry cloth. She took the opportunity to launder her extremely soiled garments (the water hadn't been clear enough after she had finished with her armour) in the tub, and hung them over the edge to dry. She took the white uniform she had been given, the rest of her stuff, and went to the bedroom. Curling up in the soft white bed, she permitted herself to sleep.

Some time later, she awoke. How long she had been asleep, she did not know, but it felt good to get some rest – she'd been on the road for days, and then fought a protracted battle for what had to have been several hours, and then answered a minor interrogation. She deserved the sleep. Out in the sitting room, the moon hung at exactly the same point in the window it had before. She had noted that it didn't change position when she had made her way across the trackless desert. At least until the monsters started to show up. Then she had been too busy to pay attention to trivial details like the position of the moon. Well, maybe Elune's grace shone here too. Did Elune care for the dead? She'd been a priestess, once.

In the bathroom, her clothes were dry. Forgoing the bath, she opted to try out the device she thought of as the 'rain machine'. It exceeded her expectations. After trying it out, she decided that she would definitely use it again in the future. Baths were fine, but she found them time consuming. The rain machine was fast and effective and didn't give her the impression that she was elf soup on the boil.

She dressed in the white outfit and put her own clothes in her packs, which she once again tucked behind the wide black sash. She wanted a chance to repair her armour before putting it on again. The swords she kept out and strapped to her, one on either side of her hips.

Vellena decided it was time to go see Grimmjow about that forge.

She found the door with the marking that matched his tattoo without a problem. As she raised her hand to knock, she was slightly surprised when it swung open, Grimmjow standing at the door and clearly expecting her. She lowered her hand.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked.

"I felt your reiatsu coming down the hall," he replied, as though it were the simplest thing. Reiatsu? Nevermind, there would be time for that later. He was speaking again. "Did you rest all right?"

"Yes. I rested well. It was a welcome break after five days without rest. I also enjoyed the rain machine," she stated. His brows furrowed for a moment.

"Oh, the shower. Yeah, nice little real-world invention. Good for getting the blood off after a fight," he said.

"Indeed." So that was what it was called. She would have to talk to some gnome artificers about it if she ever made it back to Azeroth.

"Hey, did you still need that forge?" he asked. She nodded in reply. Something that might have been annoyance flickered past his eyes. She disregarded it. "Okay. We have one in Las Noches, but it's a little out of the way. I'll have to use garganta," he said. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes."

He made that gesture – the one Ulquiorra had made. A tear appeared in the air, yawning open. She studied it carefully. So that portal was called garganta? Interesting. They stepped in to the gaping maw, took the accustomed steps, and walked out into a large room filled with strange devices, work-benches cluttered with tools, and what appeared to be a small forge. Heat blasted from a furnace, and there was a small anvil. She thought she identified something that could work as a grinding wheel nearby. "This will do," she stated. She pulled a bag out, and began to remove her armour and lay it gently on the floor. Grimmjow leaned against a wall, watching her. He seemed a little surprised at the capacity of her magic bags.

"You should be quick, I think this is Szayel's," the blue-haired arrancar said. Who Szayel was, she had no clue.

"One should not rush repairs," she intoned stoically. "Badly maintained armour is more dangerous to the wearer than going unarmoured."

"Hn."

Vellena got to work. She removed a bar of metal from her pack and placed it in the furnace for hot-welding later. At least the heat seemed sufficient – it was hot enough even to work titansteel. After a few minutes of preparation, she started on the first piece of plate, tapping out some deep dents with her hammer. Grimmjow continued to lounge against the wall, watching her in silence.

 _Tink, tink, tink,_ went her hammer. She was very grateful she had taken the time to learn blacksmithing. Though she wished she'd learned more about mining than inscription. Inscription had got her into this whole mess in the first place.

The repairs took time. Grimmjow occasionally huffed and sighed, clearly impatient and none to pleased to be here. Finally she completed her armour repairs, and she hefted her huge axe to the grinding wheel. Ahh, how she loved that sound! Sparks flew, none of which caused her any trouble. She kept herself enveloped in cold.

Finally, she moved to the last stage. Putting away her tools, and cleaning up the mess that had accumulated, she pulled oil and rags from her pack and finished cleaning and polishing. At last, her repairs were finished.

"You done yet?" asked Grimmjow, hands in his pockets.

"Yes. I have completed my repairs," she replied. "I would like to return to my rooms."

"All right." He sighed, straightening up from the wall. Then they both froze as a third person entered the room. This one had pink hair, and what appeared to be spectacles. He was shorter than both Vellena and Grimmjow.

"What's going on here Grimmjow? This is my workshop. There's delicate equipment in here that doesn't need your ham-handed touch!" the newcomer snapped. Vellena thought she recognized him from the audience hall. So this was another Espada?

"We were just leaving, Szayel," growled Grimmjow.

"I didn't give you permission—" Szayel began, but Vellena interrupted.

"Thank you for the use of your forge, Sir Szayel. Because of it, I was able to bring my armour and weapons back to their proper killing form," she said sweetly, brandishing her axe so that light reflected from the razor-sharp blade into his eyes. She even smiled. The double-bladed axe was at least a yard and a half across, with a handle as long as her leg. She allowed some of the ever-present blood thirst to radiate from her. Szayel closed his mouth with a glare.

"It was my pleasure, uh, Vellena. All you need to do is ask, and I'd be delighted to allow you to use my forge," said the pink-haired Espada. His eyes were cold behind the glasses. Vellena suspected Grimmjow had not asked for permission, and that factor had the other Espada more upset than her use of the forge. It seemed that these Espada got along about as well as any group of powerful creatures forced to work together. She'd seen this kind of backbiting and infighting among the Death Knights, at least before they became the Ebon Blade. Come to think of it, there was still a little of that going on. No gathering of strong wills was ever entirely free of it, she supposed. Even Arthas' minions fought amongst themselves.

"C'mon," said Grimmjow, clearly impatient to be out of here. He led her away.


	6. Q&A With Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez

“What is reiatsu?”

Vellena asked this after she’d used it to intimidate Szayel? Grimmjow gave a snort. She’d gone and put on her plate while he waited in her sitting room, on her couch. Now she was back out in the room. He got his first real good look of the armour when it wasn’t caked in gore, and had to admit it looked pretty impressive with all the spikes and skulls and blue-black metal. She didn’t look at all peaceable. The cape was a nice touch too. But he was glad she wasn’t wearing the helmet right now. Her head looked better – pointy ears and all. Pity she felt it necessary to wear that pile of tin at all, the arrancar uniform had looked good on her.

“What is reiatsu?” Grimmjow repeated her question, grinning. He leaned languidly back on the couch and let his power roll off of him in azure waves. She stiffened and watched him. Then he felt an answering wave from her, thick and red-black like clotted blood. It resonated with his own – one predator to another. He smiled. “Yeah, you got it.” He said. She’d probably be a match for most arrancar, he thought, but probably not the Espada. Maybe not. They both reined in their power.

“You can track by that?” she asked.

“Yeah, you give off a small amount all the time. I can feel when you move around, as long as I’m nearby. You can probably learn to track others by watching their reiatsu. Everyone’s is different. Most of us hide ours, though, when we don’t want to be tracked.”

She looked thoughtful at this.

“You know, you probably don’t have to wear all that armour around here,” he said after the silence had gone on too long for his tastes.

“I like my armour. I have trained extensively with it,” she responded.

“Yeah, well, running around in all that tin around here is like inviting someone to come test it out,” he drawled. He wondered how someone would go about undressing her in all that plate. It would no doubt kill the moment, he thought. Funny how his thoughts kept returning to that subject.

“They can test all they like. I don’t mind feeding foolish people steel.” He had to smile at that. She might seem like a frigid bitch, but she had some attitude in there. That pleased him. He’d been curious about the extent of her battle skills since he first saw her. Maybe seeing her across the practice floor with steel in hand would help him focus on what she did when she was in her armour, rather than what she might do _out_ of it.

“Of course, if you’re looking to keep in fighting form, we have a sparring room.” He grinned at her. “Though I think Aizen would probably prefer if there weren’t any fatalities.” Which was a shame, really. He’d find it immensely entertaining if she were to kill someone like, say, Nnoitra. He’d often cursed the fact that the Espada were discouraged from killing each other.

She considered. “I would not mind sparring with your comrades. Thus far, the creatures in this world fight differently from what I am used to. If I am to be of use to Lord Aizen, I should be able to face his enemies with some knowledge of how to defeat them,” she said.

Well, that made sense. It would also give them a chance to learn her abilities. Though she seemed an ally now, Grimmjow knew these things were never all that certain. With a gesture, he opened a garganta. Wordlessly, she entered it. She was really taking all this in stride, he thought. It was clear her world was completely different from this one, yet he had yet to see her react. It was kind of frustrating, really. What a cold fish.

The garganta took them to a large, very high-ceilinged room. There were benches lining the room, and in one part there was exercise equipment. Grimmjow knew from personal experience that it was ruggedly designed with Espada in mind – it was no flimsy living world equipment. The weights started at 200 pounds and went up from there, for instance.

In the centre of the room, Lilynette was squaring off against that bootlicking fracción of Nnoitra’s, Tesla. Starrk was on a bench, snoring quietly. Nnoitra was nowhere in sight. There were some números using the equipment.

“This is where we practice,” Grimmjow stated, stepping from the dark passage of the garganta. The Death Knight followed him through, the gate closing behind them. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight languidly to one side, apparently watching Tesla and Lilynette. As she and Grimmjow watched, Lilynette flung a light green cero at her opponent, who dodged. It was a piddling cero, Grimmjow made a disdainful noise at witnessing it. Vellena just narrowed her eyes, watching the fight. Did she know what cero was? Lilynette’s cero was pathetic, though.

Vellena watched impassively as the two fought. Grimmjow watched her out of the corner of his eye, keeping the bulk of his attention on the combatants. He thought Lilynette had the upper hand here. The green-haired fracción swung her huge sickle-like blade at Tesla like a berserker. The taller arrancar was being forced to give ground against the little girl’s onslaught. He backed steadily towards the wall. When he reached it, he yielded.

Seeing her opponent capitulate, Lilynette rapidly sheathed her zanpakutō. She gave Tesla’s hand a perfunctory shake (Grimmjow wouldn’t have even done that, and he doubted many of the other arrancar would either), then she scampered over to the bench where Starrk was sleeping. The little arrancar jumped up on the bench, and when her master did not move, canned him viciously with her heel. Grimmjow tried not to wince. Vellena stared.

Starrk howled, jerking awake. “What was that for?” he demanded in a hurt tone, moving so that his poor junk was protected from the tyrannical little girl.

Lilynette leaned her head close to Starrk’s, unblinking pink eye fixed on his. “I won the match. Cheer, lazy!” she demanded.

Grimmjow heard something that sounded very much like an amused snort from the night elf. A part of him – the part of every male that cringes upon witnessing a guy getting his nuts stomped on – was a little horrified that she could find that funny. Another part of him was slightly relieved that she _had_ an emotional expression other than complete deadpan.

“Lost again? Tesla, you’re a worthless fracción.” Grimmjow’s head whipped over to the entrance, where Nnoitra lounged, long arms crossed over his chest.

“Mushiwake arimasen deshita, Nnoitra-sama,” Tesla said softly, bowing very formally to his master. Nnoitra scowled.

“Quit fucking losing, Tesla. You’re pathetic.” The lanky Quinto sneered at his subordinate. “Get out of my sight.” Tesla slunk out of the room, head hanging.

Now, Grimmjow never babied his fracción, but they had been his companions for a long time. He maintained his position at the top of the pack, yes, and he wouldn’t mourn overmuch if they got themselves killed, but he gave them a modicum of respect. The Sexto disdained the way Nnoitra treated his fracción. The only thing more disgusting was the fact that Tesla nevertheless seemed to maintain his worship of Nnoitra no matter what abuse was heaped upon him. What a lickspittle.

“Che,” said Grimmjow. 

Nnoitra’s sole eye flicked over to where Vellena and Grimmjow were standing. His mouth curled into a cruel grin, showing lots of upper teeth. Grimmjow suppressed a sigh, trying not to shift his weight. The Quinto’s misogyny was legendary, and he knew Nnoitra was still pissed off that the Sexto had been assigned to the night elf. Grimmjow wondered what kind of bullshit Nnoitra was about to pull now.


	7. A friendly sparring match

Vellena focused her frosty gaze dispassionately on the new arrival. She recognized him quickly as ‘spoon-head’ from the day before. She noted that he was taller even than most night elf males; indeed, he would probably give a draenei a run for his or her money in the height department. Or even a tauren. She would have to tilt her head up to look him in the eye, and she wasn’t sure she liked that.

She did not like how he was looking at her. His demeanor carried a combination of threat and contempt.

Beside her, Grimmjow tensed ever so slightly as the other Espada walked languidly across the room, giving his long black hair a flick with a spindly hand. There _was_ a rivalry there, she thought, and she rather suspected that she was about to become more fuel for that rivalry. If she had been anyone else, she would have rolled her eyes.

“What do you want, Nnoitra?” demanded Grimmjow. The one called Nnoitra ignored the Sexto, focusing his single eye intently on Vellena.

“What’s this?” asked the lanky Espada. “Brought your little trull to the practice mat? The battlefield is no place for a woman.” He sneered.

She had heard these sentiments before. However, no weakling survived the process of becoming a Death Knight, male or female. She had proven herself on the battlefield time and time again. She said nothing. It was easy enough to refuse to be baited. She knew her own prowess. No reaction flitted across her face, she maintained her unwavering, emotionless gaze.

“You don’t disagree?” Nnoitra’s tone was sly.

“Get to your fucking point, Nnoitra. If you have one, that is. The only point you ever seem to have is your head. Is that why you wear that ridiculous hood? It’s a poor disguise,” Grimmjow said in a bored, insulting tone.

“Shut up, _Sexto_.” Nnoitra’s smile vanished momentarily. “I don’t recall asking for your input.” The Quinto bared teeth again in what was probably supposed to be a smile. “Well if you’re going to insist on walking around in weapons and armour like you know how to use them, you’d better be prepared to prove yourself, bitch.” Without warning he reached to his back, swinging the huge double crescent moon axe around in an attack.

Death had in no ways dulled her reactions. She had her runeswords out of their sheaths as he was bringing his weapon up in its initial swing, and she effortlessly parried his downstroke with her crossed blades. The combatants stared at each other over their weapons, halted for the moment. Beside her, she was aware of Grimmjow with his own sword in hands, radiating anger.

“Go watch,” she said quietly, frosty glowing eyes not leaving Nnoitra.

Grimmjow huffed and sheathed his weapon, the blade clicking as it slid home. He turned and walked to the bench. “Have your match then. Just make sure you’re still alive so I can get my turn,” he said.

“Don’t worry Grimm-kitty,” Nnoitra’s tone was venomous, “You can have my sloppy seconds.” Was he implying what she thought he was implying? She was less and less impressed with this Espada with every passing second.

“Are you going to fight, or are you going to stand there listening to the sound of your own voice all day?” the night elf grated. Nnoitra’s grin widened. He pulled his huge axe back. She wasn’t sure if it was comforting or not that the beings of this dimension seemed as enamoured of ridiculously large weapons as those in Azeroth were. His axe was even bigger than her oversized axe. Oh well, whatever got the job done, she supposed. She readied her swords.

Another frontal attack. She dodged easily, ducking the blade and striking out with her right in one fluid movement. He stepped aside just in time, the tip of her sword grazing his chest. Fabric parted like a sigh, but she was a little discomfited to see her blade slide off his skin without leaving a mark. As she parried his rejoinder, she wondered. She’d had no problem slicing through those ‘hollows’.

“My hierro is the strongest of all the Espada,” hissed Nnoitra. “You can’t even cut me, bitch!” Another effortless swing of his axe came at her. Off kilter, she was unable to fully dodge this one, settling instead for deflecting it with the back of her gauntleted left forearm. Sparks flew as the edge ground down along the titansteel. _I just fixed that one too,_ she thought a bit acidly, pushing aside her opponent’s blade and stepping inside his guard. She focused her rage in an icy strike, activating a frost rune on her blade while kicking out with her hobnailed sabaton. Plate met iron flesh – the strike didn’t do much damage, she thought, but the frost bloom travelled all the way up to the skin of his neck. Their breath was visible in the sudden cold. Perhaps her runic abilities were the key to this.

Slowed by the frost fever she had inflicted on him, Nnoitra’s counter was not quick enough. Her lips pulled in a bloodthirsty grin as she slammed her blade into his shoulder, calling upon the power of her runes. Green flashed as she hit him with the plagued blade, and blood flowed from his split skin. She backed away, deflecting his infuriated swing with her gauntlet again, grunting under the impact.

“You’re bleeding,” she said, grinning.

“So are you, bitch!” snarled her opponent. She glanced at her arm, somewhat surprised to notice thick black blood dripping from her upper arm. His blade had slid off her gauntlet and managed to bite into the unprotected flesh between her bracers and pauldrons. No matter, the wound was superficial, as were the wounds she had delivered to him. It was clear, however, that he was not immune to her diseases. She could see the edges of the cut she had given him bubble and fester.

She shouldn’t have let him distract her into looking at her own damage. She was barely able to parry the blow that seemed to come out of nowhere, catching his blade against her right blade. She was terrifyingly strong by mortal standards, but so was he, and he had the advantage of leverage, pushing his axe down on her. With a screech, the metal slipped a few inches towards her. She rolled to the side, counting on her night elf reflexes to dodge the blow she knew would follow her retreat.

That was almost a mistake. She was fast, but he was faster. He vanished with a buzzing sound, and only her excellent battle senses managed to keep her head attached to her body when he suddenly attacked from behind while she was getting back up to her feet. But she managed to sense the attack before it landed and once more parried, managing to deflect the damage to her shoulder rather than her neck. Deciding that figuring out how he moved so fast could come _later_ , she struck out in retaliation, red light streaming from the edges of her blades as she hit. He was clearly not expecting her to be in any condition to retaliate, for the hits landed squarely on his chest. Some of her wounds closed as blood sprayed out and she absorbed the health and strength she stole with her attack.

It was a good thing she had never expected this to be a _friendly sparring match_ to begin with. What he’d just tried to pull was calculated to kill. No doubt it would have been an ‘accident’. Unfortunately she didn’t think she could get away with doing the same to him – Grimmjow had cautioned against lethality and he was probably right. While he attempted to comprehend her attack, she bound him with icy chains and leapt back, buying some time.

This time, Vellena didn’t resist licking the blood off the edge of her blade, grinning evilly at her opponent across the room, savouring the taste of his blood. Then she lashed out with a deathly energy. And blinked, surprised, when the bleeding X on his chest closed, healing. _Huh?_ Apparently he was just as confused, as he paused in his slowed advance to consider his own wounds before looking back at her. _Death coil heals the undead…_ she thought. She’d never had the opportunity to use the attack yet in this world, but it appeared that Nnoitra at least, was similar enough to undead for it to heal him. Maybe she wasn’t so different from these arrancar after all.

Well, she couldn’t stand there gaping like a fool. So she couldn’t death coil his ass, there were other things she could do.

His long pointy tongue flicked out at her, strange tattoo fully visible. Before she could wonder why he was giving her the raspberry, a golden light formed at the tip. This was an attack! It was similar to what the little green-haired girl had done, and similar to less powerful ones that had been leveled at her when she had fought the hollows. Through will alone, she called upon the shield that mitigated energy attacks, which took the brunt of the searing blast that washed over her. As the anti-magic shell dissipated, she took a few steps backwards, feeling a little unbalanced, and more than a little bit like a lobster cooking in its shell. She summoned the frost to her, relieving the terrible heat of his strange attack.

He seemed to be gearing up for another one of those golden blasts. She couldn’t let that happen – another like that would probably kill her. Damn, this fucker played for keeps! Well, she would have to end this definitively, and soon, or no doubt he’d succeed sooner or later. Before that golden light could blast her again she reached out with the deathly powers inherent in her and pulled him towards her. This was unexpected enough to break his concentration, and he was still reacting when she followed through with an attack designed to funnel health from him into her, and then with a vicious strike which devoured the diseases she’d inflicted on him in order to do even greater damage.

Nnoitra reeled, and she struck again, this time attempting to disarm. His stupidly huge axe went spinning off to the side, out of his grasp. She lifted her right blade, frozen blue flame rippling along its edge, and leveled it at the hollow of his neck. Her other blade she kept ready to parry any attack.

“Yield,” Vellena demanded. Nnoitra opened his mouth, pointed tongue curling. The temperature between them dropped rapidly. He apparently thought better. His mouth twisted in a snarling frown.

“Alright, alright. Next time I’ll fucking kill you, bitch,” he snapped, muttering the last under his breath. Vellena’s long, sensitive night elf ears nevertheless caught the comment. She gave him an icy glare. Her eyes did not leave him as he retrieved his weapon. She half-expected another attack, even though he’d already capitulated, but it didn’t come. She would have to watch her back whenever this one was around.

“Yare, yare, those wounds look pretty bad Nnoitra, ya should go see the medics,” a light voice commented. Both Vellena and the Quinto looked up. Nnoitra was glaring at the silver-haired man who had escorted her to Aizen’s throne room. Silver-hair was still grinning, eyes nearly shut. Maybe he never lost that expression – she didn’t know. Certainly his tone matched the cheerful face.

She should probably death coil Nnoitra to heal some of his injuries, but really, she wasn’t feeling so generously inclined right now. The man had clearly been trying to kill her. The medics could handle him now. Instead, she used the fading runic energy to death coil herself, feeling the last of the burns and scratches fade.

She had been peripherally aware that their sparring match had gathered more spectators – any good warrior had to be aware of the movement of anything that could be a threat during combat – but now she really had an opportunity to take in the crowd. In addition to the silver-haired ex-shinigami, there were several others she recognized from the throne room. The female Espada was there, lounging against the wall, with three female subordinates nearby. Ulquiorra also watched – she had little doubt that he’d recorded whatever he’d seen of the combat in his eye (which had grown back in sometime over the night). There were others she recognized, including ones who seemed to be Grimmjow’s subordinates by the way they hovered near the blue-haired Espada. Grimmjow was lounging on one of the benches, hands shoved in his pockets.

“That was a refreshing fight, Vellena-chan, ya sure know how to use yer weapons,” said the silver-hair, addressing her. Digging a rag from her magic bag, she cleaned her blades before sheathing them.

“No Death Knight is ignorant of battle, Sir,” she said. She still hadn’t managed to catch his name, but he seemed to occupy some kind of position of authority over the Espada.

“Gin, call me Gin, Vellena-chan. No need to be so formal!”

“As you wish, Sir Gin.” His fox’s grin widened, but he didn’t dispute her use of ‘Sir’.

“Enough yap,” said Grimmjow, rising. His hand was on the hilt of his sword. “Since you don’t look too beat up, I want a go.”


	8. Shot Down

She fought well. Grimmjow had to give her that. A couple of times he was pretty sure that Nnoitra was going to kill her, but she managed to avoid death, and even won the bout. She wouldn’t be able to keep up with sonido, and he doubted she could take too many ceros, but what she lacked there, she made up for in reaction time and agility. She didn’t have a lot of ranged attacks, but honestly, neither did a lot of arrancar. Or shinigami for that matter. At least her techniques were interesting. It was clear she could heal her own wounds by damaging her opponent. That was bloody useful. She could also apparently heal others, although he was pretty damn sure that she hadn’t expected that technique to have that effect on Nnoitra.

He stated his intentions to spar, and was satisfied to see no reluctance in her demeanor. Gin, on the other hand, had to stick his bastard nose into everyone’s business.

“I think that’s enough for now, Grimm-kitty,” Gin said. Grimmjow ground his teeth at the hated nickname.

“I am fine, Sir Gin. I have no issues with a _friendly sparring match_ ,” Vellena said in her usual cool tone. She placed a subtle emphasis on the last three words she spoke. Grimmjow knew she hadn’t missed the fact that her bout with Nnoitra hadn’t been anything like a ‘friendly sparring match’ on the Quinto’s part.

“All the same, I think maybe ya should stop now. Maybe others want the room, hey?” Gin said, a little more forcefully. Both Grimmjow and Vellena were looking at the fox-like man. It was clear he didn’t want her sparring anymore right now. Grimmjow didn’t know why, but it was pissing him off. “Don’t worry, Grimmy-kun, there’s always tomorrow!” Gin chirped.

Grimmjow’s hand left his zanpakutō’s hilt reluctantly, and he stuffed both hands into his pockets, glaring at the ground. “You wanna hang around and use the equipment?” he asked Vellena, not bothering to hide his disgruntlement. He hadn’t had a good fight in way too long, and now he was being denied a match with the only interesting thing in the room. Watching her fight had just made him want to… well, right now he wanted to either fight her or lay her, and he didn’t really care which. She was utterly hot when she fought, absolutely fearless and vicious. Well, as hot as someone could be who iced up the very air around her when she battled.

“No,” she said. He gestured wordlessly, opening a garganta. She preceded him through it, not even questioning the destination.

They stepped out of the garganta passageway into the familiar white hall of the Espada quarters. Her room was not far away. Neither was his. He wondered what she’d do if he took her to his room. There’s a thought. Peel off all that armour, and—

“We could go elsewhere,” she said, interrupting his train of thought. He wondered for a moment if she was propositioning him, and then realized she was probably still discussing sparring.

 _Or, I could push you against the wall and drill you_ , he thought with a feral grin, wondering what her steel-on-steel voice would sound like screaming his name. She had been mostly silent through her battle with Nnoitra, he wanted to know if he could make her lose her composure.

Silently, he moved behind her, placing one hand on her shoulder, avoiding the spines. He leaned forward, lips brushing her long pointed ear. “ _Or we could do something else…_ ” he whispered.

Her inscrutable eyes fixed on him as she turned her head to look sidelong at him. He couldn’t read what was going on behind the frozen mask of her face. Her gaze told him nothing. He kept his own eyes on her, no expression on his face. They were silent for long moments. Too long.

“You are very strange,” she said finally, before slipping effortlessly from his grasp and walking off to her room without so much as a look backwards. Grimmjow tried to keep from grinding his teeth too audibly. Rejected? _Him_?

\-----

What in Elune’s name was _that_ all about? Outwardly Vellena was as composed as only a corpse could be. Inside, she wrestled with unfamiliar feelings, feelings she was none too sure she was comfortable with. If she was not mistaken, the Sexto Espada had just propositioned her in the hallway. She was _dead_ , Light take her! She was an object of fear, a creature from the worst nightmares of the living. Whatever she might have done or been alive, she was a Death Knight now.

She stomped to the bathroom, stripping off her armour and beginning the laborious process of tending to it. While her hands were occupied, her mind raced.

Well, come to think of it, being dead didn’t seem to stop everyone – plenty of Forsaken engaged in carnal relations, and she’d heard about some Death Knights that had, but Vellena never had. She had assumed that that part of her had died when _she_ had. She wasn’t sure she even _functioned_ properly. Not that she was entirely sure she could remember what to do. Her memories of life _were_ hazy. All she knew is that she’d had a husband, a fellow priest of Elune, who had perished in the same battle that slew her. And had not been resurrected as a Death Knight, or if he had, hadn’t managed to make it very far as one. That was ancient history, and the lack of a mate had never fazed her in the slightest in her new career as an undead killing machine.

Grimmjow wasn’t even her _species_. Again, she suppressed the little part of her that rose to remind her that species didn’t stop everyone in _her_ world either.

It really didn’t help that she found him attractive. Admitting that to herself was intensely uncomfortable. But there _was_ something appealing about a man who could look her in the eye without a hint of fear. And by the standards of any races she knew of (except for maybe the Tauren) he was put together quite nicely. And those wild blue eyes and hair were kind of hot. She wondered if he was a natural azure. She had a vague recollection of being partial to blue-headed males.

Finished with her armour, she stripped off her clothes and stepped into the rain box, turning the water on cold, standing under the frigid water and trying to regain control over her emotions. After a few minutes, she reluctantly switched it over to warm and brushed chunks of ice off her skin. Ice never really got anything clean.

\-----

Frustrated, Grimmjow found himself back at the practice room, which was mostly deserted. Some stupid números were using the equipment. Grimmjow ignored them, taking out his frustration on a nearly indestructible punching bag. His fists flew with thunderous speed, connecting with satisfying, meaty thwacks.

Frigid bitch. He would’ve probably had a warmer reception if he’d asked Ulquiorra.

He growled. No fight, no sex. Nothing. He should have fought her out in the sands where he found her, at least then he would have had _some_ fun in the last few days. He was so goddamn bored, and now he was bored and _frustrated_. He tried not to think of the fluidity of her motions in battle, her mastery over her weapons, of her licking Nnoitra’s blood off her sword… he squeezed his eyes shut briefly to dispel the image, then opened them as he lashed out at the punching bag with a vicious kick.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d fight her. He wouldn’t hold back either. He wouldn’t try to kill her like Nnoitra had so blatantly tried to do, but he wouldn’t pull any punches either.

No one had ever turned him down! Always before, all he had to do was arch a brow and give a sidelong glance and a lecherous grin, and just about any female and quite a few of the males in Las Noches would have tumbled along into his bed without a word. Granted, most of them were too terrified of him to let on that they might be anything other than perfectly willing.

He could go out right now and get laid. But his thoughts were fixated on an exotic long-eared creature, and he didn’t want to settle for some dumb slut like Loly or Menoly. He struck the bag with an enraged fist, snapping the chain that held it up. The punching bag arced through the air and landed with a dull thud on the ground.

Grimmjow gave the sack a dirty glare and a contemptuous kick, before turning and stalking back to his quarters. He couldn’t even get fucking satisfaction from a goddamn punching bag today.


	9. Blood in the Sand, redux

She was in the shower again in the morning when she sensed something amiss in her rooms. Rinsing away the last of the soap, Vellena stepped out of the device and wrapped a thick white towel around her form. She narrowed her eyes, seemingly staring at the bathroom door. She could _feel_ the presence of another person in the main room of her apartments. Unerringly, she knew that presence was Grimmjow. Was this what he meant about reiatsu?

Tying the towel to free up her hands, she pushed the door open and strode out.

"What is it," she statement-demanded, ignoring the glitter of his intense blue eyes as he ogled her silently. She inwardly cursed the fact that her clothing (and armour, and weapons) were in her bedroom.

"Nice dress," he smirked. She was thankful for the added control over her expressions that being dead brought.

"You still have not said why you are here," she stated.

"Get your shit on." He fingered the hilt of his sword. Ah, so he wanted to spar. Well, she was up for that. Wordlessly, she pushed past him to the bedroom. Armouring herself was a quick process – years of doing it on her own had made her swift and efficient, and her armour had been significantly enhanced with magic – ease of donning was a nice side benefit of increased strength, decreased weight, and the ability to move freely while wearing it. She buckled on the paired swords and went back to the sitting room. Seeing her armed and armoured, he made a grunting noise which she thought might be approval, and opened that passageway again.

Vellena was starting to think she might be able to replicate that technique soon.

This time the passageway spat her out onto sand, instead of the sparring room that she had expected. She looked around, seeing the massive white walls of Las Noches rising a few yards away, and the endless white dunes of Hueco Mundo extending off in every other direction. Grimmjow stepped out of the gaping hole in reality, and it slid shut.

Why had he brought her here? She turned towards him, ready to demand an answer, when he charged at her, sword in hand, blazing with intent. Within a split second her own blades were out and she blocked his strike. Sand sprayed around them at the impact.

So he wanted to play, did he? She would play. Her lips curled in the hint of a smile.

She hadn't disappointed him at least. As he'd hoped, she had met his surprise attack in time and kept him from slicing her to pieces. He blocked her repartee with his left hand, ignoring the pain as her blade cut into his palm. Biting cold clawed all the way to his elbow. Disregarding it, he kicked out at her, pushing aside her other blade with Pantera. She stumbled backwards at the force of his hit.

She recovered quickly, digging her boots into the shifting sand and launching herself at him. He could see a shimmering green along the edge of her blades. Pretty sure he didn't want that to hit, he used sonido to sidestep, swatting at her backside with the flat of his blade. It struck without damage against her heavy armour, clanging. A hit intended to humiliate, not to wound. He thought he could detect a glint of annoyance in her frigid gaze as she turned to face him. He grinned back at her, raising Pantera in a mocking salute.

She chose that moment to strike, flowing forward like a snake, right blade extended and left blade back for balance. He almost didn't dodge it in time. _On second thought_ … he felt an uncomfortable burning sensation along his left flank and realized he hadn't dodged it all.

First blood and second blood were hers. It was Grimmjow's turn.

Ignoring the pain along his ribs, he feinted, attempting to trick her into parrying low with her right. She took the bait, and he turned on his heel to avoid the left-handed strike he'd figured she would return with. Shifting weight quickly, the Sexto swept his booted foot to her legs. The impact of his foot against her armoured legs wasn't fun, but it threw her balance. Vellena proved her agility by not ending up on her ass, but he managed to get a strike in while she was recovering. He slipped his blade deftly into the joint of her cuirass and faulds, continuing past her, rotating to face her. Pantera came back with a small amount of black liquid on the edge. Third blood was his. He licked his lips.

She raised a hand, mouth twisted in a demon's grin (it was the first real expression he'd seen on her face), but before she could follow through with whatever it was she was going to do, he used sonido to appear behind her. Her parry this time was incomplete, and the grinding sound of Pantera striking her armour rang in his ears. His hilt-guard tangled on a spike, and she jerked her body with a grin, her strength and the unexpected motion pulling his zanpakotō from his grip. Leaping backwards, he raised his hand.

The first cero washed over her, doing very little damage as she shielded herself somehow. The second one, coming on the tail of the first, she had to dodge. Grimmjow used that opportunity to retrieve Pantera, and then began a series of sonido hops and slashes, punctuated by the occasional bala, cero, or even stray left hook as he commenced a strafing attack, laughing like a madman. The speed was too much for her to avoid all the attacks, and she was on the defensive instead of the offensive. Her armour prevented him from scoring much more than trivial hits, but he was wearing her down.

Then his foot came down into something sludgy, and he stumbled in the sticky, boiling circle of blood and sand that surrounded the night elf. He could feel where the liquid was eating through his uniform, etching his skin. It stung. He swirled his reiryoku around his feet like a tide, yanking his feet free from the mire and stepping back into the air. He backed out of the bubbling muck, bringing Pantera into a guard position in front of him. She was still smiling.

She grasped out at him, and he had a moment to recognize her move from yesterday when he was yanked roughly back down to earth. Grimmjow had an inkling what was coming, enough to deflect one of her attacks. The Death Knight's right-handed strike landed, cutting open his hierro at his left shoulder. _That hurt_ , he thought with a feral grin. But it afforded him the opportunity to slide his zanpakutō down her left-hand blade, twisting his sword to hook her guard with the crook of Pantera. An outward push, delivering another low strike with his foot, and her sword sailed out of her hands to landed tip down in the bloody sand, standing at a slight angle.

Ignoring his shoulder, which hurt far more than it should for such a relatively unimportant wound, he decked her with his left fist, firing a bala at her at the moment of impact. His opponent flew several yards backwards before slamming into the wall of Las Noches. A quick sonido step brought him up against her before she could sag down the wall.

With his bloody left hand, he grabbed her wrist before she could recover and attack, slamming her gauntleted hand back against the wall. Grimmjow hid a wince as she grabbed him with a searing cold fist, and succeeded in deflecting the armoured knee to his groin with his own knee. Somehow he managed to capture both her hands and hold them out of the way, which was no easy task. She was his height or better, and had his reach. And he was moving a little slower than he would have liked – the effects of her frost attacks. But he managed it all the same, and laid Pantera's edge along her throat.

Vellena's teeth were bared in something that might have even been a clench-jawed grin, exposing animalistic canines. Her eyes blazed with bloodlust. It was difficult to keep his own killing drive from pushing him into decapitating her. That had been an excellent fight. It had, unfortunately, done nothing to diminish his desire to have her. Showing his own razor teeth, he rumbled with deceptive softness; "Gonna push it?"

Her sword clattered to the sand as she released it. He could see the anger behind her frozen orbs. "I yield," she grated.

Not releasing her wrists, he sheathed Pantera with a fluid movement, pinioning her with his eyes. "Good," he purred, disregarding his wounds and her heavy, spiked armour as he pressed her into the wall, fixing his demanding mouth on hers.


	10. Getting to Know You

She had expected mockery for her defeat. He'd consistently demonstrated his irreverence for, well, _everything_ , since the moment she met him. She didn't even think he respected his liege lord.

She hadn't expected to find him attempting to force his tongue past her teeth. Light, battle was some kind of foreplay for this blue-haired maniac! In attempting to draw a breath to make some kind of protest, she gave him the opening he'd been pushing for. He pressed his assault and made it past her teeth, grazing her lips with his own sharp fangs. His tongue met her own. The Espada's intense azure eyes were fixed on her own, flaring challenge.

For the first time in her unlife, Vellena was caught flat-footed in a battle she didn't know how to fight. And she was losing. With haste. The feel of his teeth as he tugged her lower lip sent jolts of an alien feeling through her. Pain she could withstand until cut down entirely, she could march for days without tiring, go without air for hours… but Grimmjow's hungry mouth, demanding eyes, and hard body pressed oh-so-insistently against hers (despite what had to be the uncomfortable impediment of her plate mail), evoked sensations she could neither fathom nor dispel.

Bewildered and defeated, she stopped resisting. A spark of triumph shone in his face, and he intensified his domination of her mouth. Then his free right hand clanked against her cuirass, and he made an annoyed grunt.

"Fucking armour," he griped, releasing her lips at last.

She could put a stop to this now, she realized. Her armour would have to be removed, and she doubted he could figure out how to get it off _without_ her complicity, and it was too well made for him to easily destroy. All she would have to do was not cooperate, go cold again, and eventually he'd probably decide she wasn't worth the bother, right? Or freeze his nuts off. But now she wasn't sure she wanted to. The lack of intimacy in her unlife, she realized, was more from lack of opportunity than lack of ability to feel. She was able to find him attractive. Judging by the effort he was making to get in her pants, he felt the same about her. There _was_ precedent in her own world. It— Sometime in the last few moments, Vellena decided that there was really no logical reason for her to stay celibate.

"Like this," she said, removing her hands from his grasp. She was a little surprised he let them go. Her gauntlets fell to the sand as she unfastened them, and then her pauldrons and belt followed. A few swift movements later, and her cuirass loosened. She pulled the metal shell away from her body, unsurprised when Grimmjow leaned back just enough to give her room and took the piece of armour away from her. It joined the rest in the cool white sand, landing with a soft sound, tassets jangling.

"This is why this shit is pointless," he said, "it just takes too long to get you out of it."

"The purpose of armour is to protect the wearer. It does that best when worn," she deadpanned.

"Yeah, well, it's damned inconvenient right now."

"I don't prepare for battle with your convenience in mind."

"Shut up and take it off!" he snarled in frustration as he fumbled with her cuisses. She almost smiled, wondering once again what the hell she was doing. There would no doubt be unexpected repercussions to giving in to Grimmjow. But then again, there would be repercussions to denying him (and herself) as well – she did not doubt that her stay would be far less comfortable if his desire for her was transmuted all the way over into aggression at her continued refusal. And yes, she wanted this. That was no small thing to discount.

Most of her armour was in the sand now, with just the bracers and sabatons left on her body. It seemed he was content to ignore those for now. Once more, he pressed her against the wall, lips crushing against hers in a bruising kiss. His hands traced her sides, coming to rest on her hips. Free of her armour, she could feel his defined chest pushed against hers, feel the heat radiate off him, feel his hardness even through his white uniform and her thick padded breeches. His eyes were half lidded and smouldered with feral intensity. Every part of him was limned in fierce primal beauty; even that jaw fragment on the side of his face seemed so appropriately a part of him, even the sweat-stiffened peaks of his sky blue hair were perfect.

Momentarily unable to bear his burning gaze, Vellena closed her eyes. This was more feeling than she had experienced since death. Surely it was too intense; surely she could not bear this. His lips moved from her mouth to her neck, biting as he ground his hips against hers insistently. Hands crept under her padded shirt, sliding up her taut stomach, encountering the simple bra, which he tore away, letting it drop from her shirt. He found her nipples and squeezing them hard. She was aware of pain, distant and dull. It did nothing to cool the desire she felt – if anything it fanned it higher. Her breath hissed past her lips at the feel of his sharp teeth against her neck; his tongue, his lips, his hot breath.

So much sensation! Her hands, seemingly of their own volition, were tracking across Grimmjow's muscular back, conveniently exposed by the short, open jacket he insisted on wearing. The edges of her fingers brushed the lip of the hole through his body, and she felt him shudder all over, heard him groan hoarsely, his teeth driving into the point where her neck met her shoulder. She let her fingertips linger there, savouring the intense heat of him, surprised that she could incite so much response with just a touch. Curious, she ran her index finger along the inside.

His reaction was immediate. His whole body jerked, crushing his hips against her and pulling his head back. His teeth were clenched tight on some kind of guttural moan, and his eyes were focused on something nonexistent. They came back to her, intense and wild. He groped at her padded shirt, snapping the leather ties effortlessly, pulling the short-sleeved garment roughly from her body and tossing it away. She managed to save her breeches from the same fate by undoing the fastenings before he could tear them. At her hurried movements, he grinned.

"Can't wait, huh? Well don't worry. I don't intend to keep you waiting." The Espada's voice was rough with lust. He stepped back for a moment, a few quick movements loosing his belt and skirt-like pants. They slid down his legs into the sands below. He reached for her underwear, handily destroying the flimsy garment and flinging it viciously away. Unwilling to let him have the last say, she tore away the simple white covering that hid his sex. She was pleased to note that he was indeed a natural blue. And he was quite rigid and endowed in proportion to his stature, which was to say, not inconsiderable, even to Vellena's untutored eyes. Her hands grazed his hips hungrily. She bared her teeth, struggling with the intense and unfamiliar feelings of desire he invoked.

Chuckling at her expression, he leaned in to her. The feel of his skin against her own was extraordinary. He was fire to her ice. With a hand tangled in her hair, he bit her neck again, hard and fast, then his hot lips were on her ear, jawbone fragment scraping against the sensitive flesh. "I'm. Going. To. Make. You. Come. _Screaming,_ " he hissed, voice low, before biting the long lobe. Involuntarily, she shuddered, letting go a hoarse gasp.

Still grinning, Grimmjow insinuated his knees between hers, pushing them apart. His hands gripped her thighs, one straying between her legs. She stiffened as he cupped his palm against her mound, curling his fingers to slide between the swollen, slick lips. Her mind struggled to reconcile the unexpected onslaught of feeling. His touch felt good, amazingly so. This was better than she had ever thought to experience in the remainder of her blood-soaked existence.

"Perfect," he purred lowly, then hitched her up the wall, pulling her legs around his waist, and thrust into her with one powerful stroke.

"Gnng~" she exclaimed, arms wrapping around his torso as she instinctively arched her back to meet him. He plunged deeper, stretching tissues unused to this intrusion. She'd thought she felt good before – this was something else entirely. The distant ache of pain combined with the incredible erotic sensation to make her gasp out in pleasure. The night elf's eyes lit on Grimmjow's face. His eyes were closed and his teeth were bared in a cat-like expression of bliss. One strong hand gripped her buttocks firmly before coming to rest against the wall for support.

"Tight," one word was all he could seem to manage right now. His eyes fixed on hers, his lips curling in an expression of possession, of triumph. She tightened her grip on him, legs locking behind his hips. She felt the muscles of his back ripple as he began to move, driving hard into her with a grunt of exertion. She panted, open-mouthed. Her nails dug into his back.

He fucked her mercilessly up against the walls of Las Noches and she loved every torrid second of it.

The lust-filled groans that his hard thrusts coaxed from her lips only seemed to fuel him further. He crashed into her like a wave, and she felt something build as his restless hands roamed her skin, finding points of sensitivity and pleasure she'd never imagined. Something was going to happen; some new, long forgotten feeling was going to break loose inside her and overwhelm her. At any other time she might have been horrified by the loss of her composure and control, but now, now, she gave in to the demands of her body, of his.

Grimmjow seemed fully aware of what was coming. He altered his pace to something long and drawn out, clearly intent on evoking particular responses. He was a master at his work. She'd been a tool all her unlife, but never had she been wielded so skillfully as by the wild man between her legs. Nor had she ever enjoyed it so. Her long moan when he twisted her nipple invoked an answering growl from him and an almost uncontrolled thrust.

She felt like the tide itself was in her blood. "Say my name." Grimmjow demanded in a hoarse voice, mouth brushing against her ear.

"G-Grimmjow," she stammered, unhesitatingly, then cried out as he slipped particularly deep.

"Again!" he hissed.

"Grimmjow—nng!" she gasped. He was finding something deep inside her, something she never knew existed. Her glowing eyes flickered as her lids fluttered.

" _Again!_ " his grip tightened on her, and he bit her neck again, in the same place he had bit before. He pounded into her; strong, deep thrusts. She moaned loudly, a ragged, drawn out sound.

"Grimmjow! Grimm-aaah!" Her attempts to say his name ended in the promised screams as she exploded, shuddering in his arms.

"Oh gods, yes!" he cried out, then crushed against her tightly, biting and taking her hard and wild. His breathe came in roaring gasps. Her tide crested, and held, as she felt the liquid, erotic heat of him flowing into her. For an eternity, she felt like a goblin explosive peaked perpetually at the point of eruption. He shuddered to a halt, panting and not loosing his grip on her in the least. The terrible, glorious feeling began to fade, being replaced with a kind of deep lassitude and contentment that she had not expected.

So. This was what she had been missing out on. She was a fool to have held out so long.

For a moment, they just leaned against the wall together, still tangled up in each other. He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a purr. Then they disengaged, her famed night elf agility almost failing her in the aftermath of the fucking they'd just given each other. But she managed to resume her feet without falling down or swaying too much, even if she did feel a little unsteady. He looked … battered and cut up, but extremely satisfied. She realized they were both still covered in countless minor wounds (though the diseases had faded) – somehow that hadn't made an impact in the activities they had just participated in. Grimmjow had to be the strangest person she'd ever met.


	11. That Afterglow

The sound of her steely voice screaming his name was music to his ears. Really, any woman's voice was music when it was _your_ name being screamed, from what _you_ were doing to her. Grimmjow still relished it. He was feeling very satisfied (self and otherwise) right now, and rather pleased at having defrosted the ice bitch. She'd had actual _reactions_! He was very relieved that she wasn't a female Ulquiorra. That would have been a complete killjoy.

She was a sight, cut up and crusting blood where he'd managed to get through the gaps in her armour, mostly naked and still looking dazed and reeling from their passion, dusty green hair disarrayed, a fading flush from her breasts to her cheeks. It was almost enough for him to give her another round right then and there. But if he gave into that, he'd never get back in Las Noches. And Aizen had another of his stupid tea parties scheduled for later, and he really shouldn't skip that, as much as he'd like to. Speaking of tea parties, he realized abruptly that he didn't recall her having any food since she'd arrive here. That was … what, three days ago? Something like that? Was that _his_ responsibility? …Oops.

Well he wasn't exactly used to playing the good host.

Vellena appeared to be attempting to relocate her clothes. His mouth twitched in a grin as she fished her torn underwear from the sand. She hadn't quite recovered her emotionless mask fully, and he was terribly amused to see her give the ripped garment a nonplussed look, before tossing it away. Going for his own fundoshi (which were unharmed, ha ha), he chuckled. Her head swiveled at the sound and she fixed him with a look that was probably supposed to be a glare but kind of failed when her eyes roved over him, apparently without her permission, to judge by her slight flush.

"What?" he grinned, all innocence. "You don't really need those, do you? I think you look better out of them." She _definitely_ blushed at that. Oh that was too rich. He bared his teeth predatorily at her, making sure she noted his own wandering gaze as he admired her strong, lithe body, her dusky plum skin, glorious breasts... Her blush deepened. He shook the sand out of his underpants and donned them nonchalantly. He found he loved getting under her skin almost as much as he'd loved getting into her. She seemed somewhat more open, less controlled, as though he'd loosened the seal on her emotions with his lovemaking. He liked that he could have that effect on her.

She hunted down the rest of her clothes, abandoning the bra he'd ruined after giving the destroyed piece an irritated glare. As far as he was concerned, he'd just scored two points for the way things should be, anyhow. In his inestimable opinion, women didn't need that shit, it just got in the way when he was trying to get into them. He thought it was kind of hot the way the laces he'd busted on her shirt caused it to hang open, showing just a hint of round, firm breasts. He loved it when women went commando. Not that he'd given her much choice in that matter.

"Hey," he said, causing her to look up wordlessly from where she was bent over, retrieving a piece of her armour. The pose was a good one, he thought – her ass was towards him, pert and lovely, and she was looking over her shoulder back at him. She said nothing, looking at him expectantly. "You hungry?" he asked.

She straightened, lifting the cuirass, turning to face him.

"I could eat, but it's not urgent," she said. He felt a little bit relieved to hear that, to tell the truth. He kind of didn't like the idea of her feeling deprived, and blaming him for it.

He nodded in response. "Aizen has a meeting in a few hours, I need to go to that and he'll probably want you there. I'll take you to the mess and you can get something to eat before the meeting," he said. She gave a curt nod.

"I wish to return to my rooms first. I wouldn't mind using the rain—er, shower." She gave the sand a distasteful look that he fully understood. There was grit under his balls from the inadequate shakeout he'd given his underthings. And the showers in the wing she was in were as big as Espada showers, which is to say, there was more than enough room for two in there. It was an idea worth pursuing.

"Yeah," he said. She finished gathering up her armour. Instead of putting it on, she put it in one of those magic bags. It was very strange to watch her put something like her metal leggings into a bag the size of a coin purse. When she'd retrieved her weapons from the sand, cleaned them off and sheathed them (it seemed she was unwilling to go unarmed, even if she would go unarmoured for a short time), he opened the garganta.

They stepped from the shining path through the darkness into her rooms. She gave him an unreadable look, and he shrugged. "Figured this would be more convenient for you," was all the explanation he was willing to give her.

He didn't want to admit to himself or to her that he just didn't want anyone seeing her with that just-fucked look, radiating that unconscious sensuality and voluptuousness that some women seemed to emit after great sex. His scent was all over her, mingling with her own nearly-nonexistent scent. He wasn't the only arrancar in this place with animalistic senses, there were plenty in the halls of Las Noches who would know _exactly_ what had happened between them if he let her wander the halls like that. While it was no secret that Grimmjow was something of an arrancar Casanova, he was supposed to be her _liaison_ , not her _lay_.

He especially did not want Nnoitra, who would _definitely_ cause trouble, catching wind of this. The pervert Quinto was no doubt nursing a grudge towards Vellena since she kicked his ass in the sparring room. Between Nnoitra's misogyny and hatred of Grimmjow, he wouldn't put it past spoon-head to try to rape and/or murder his sexy little night elf, especially if the other Espada cottoned on to what was going on. As far as the Sexto was concerned, Vellena was _his_ now. Aizen might not agree, but what asshole-sama didn't know, didn't hurt him.

She made a beeline for the shower. Suppressing a grin at the thought of her naked and wet, he left for his quarters. He wanted to grab a fresh uniform and a towel, and then he'd be back as fast as he could. After retrieving said items, he made his way back to Vellena's quarters. He could hear the sound of the shower already running.

He put the clean uniform on the couch and then began to strip, tossing the sandy, sliced-up, and bloody remains of his current garments on the floor with little care. Only his black obi, on which Pantera was sheathed, was treated with any respect. His zanpakutō he laid beside the fresh uniform gently. He flung his fundoshi aside, and then entered her bathroom, towel draped over his shoulder.

Tossing said towel on the white stone counter, he pulled open the shower door. She was facing the door, apparently aware that he was in the room, looking very surprised at his sudden appearance in her shower. He took in the sight of her glorious, strong, curvy body wreathed in suds, dewy drops of water on her large round breasts, wet, soapy green hair framing her sweet, heart-shaped face, lips plump and bruised and full from his earlier ministrations… His breath hitched. He stepped into the shower and cut off her exclamation with a kiss.


	12. Cleanup Duty

Vellena stepped gratefully into the shower, turning the water on hot enough to steam. With a grateful sigh, she lathered up her dwindling bar of soap. She was going to have to ask for soap soon. The luxury of being able to bathe whenever she wanted to was a sheer joy, but she was sure going through soap a lot quicker here than she had in Azeroth.

Ignoring the sting of lye soap on crusted-over cuts, she scrubbed off the sand, blood, and sweat. She was so intent on getting clean that she almost didn't realize that she felt Grimmjow's reiatsu in her rooms. Again. Covered in suds, she couldn't really go barging out to ask him what he wanted this time. She hadn't even begun to rinse off the suds before the door to her shower swung open and Grimmjow slid inside the large stall in all his naked glory, closing the shower door behind him.

"Grimm—!" she began, her demand to know what he was doing cut off before she could utter it by his lips sealing hers, his arms wrapping around her soapy body.

Was this kind of behaviour normal? She had nothing by which to know – she had no recollection of intimacy in life and her experience in death had been limited to casual observance of the public behaviour of others – and Grimmjow fucking her against the walls of Las Noches. She had the vague notion that most men needed some kind of rest time between attempts. It had been… maybe 10 minutes? Did _she_ need a cool-down period?

To tell the truth, cooling down was the furthest thing from her mind right now. Once more, she melted into his kiss. Getting over her surprise, she gave back as good as she got, capturing his lower lip between her teeth and sucking. He made that purring sound again, reaching down to grab her ass and pull her close, fingernails scraping against her firm buttocks.

"Hey, gimme that soap," he said, breaking off the kiss. She blinked at him, feeling flushed and aroused and confused. "I'll wash your back," he continued, and she wordlessly handed him the bar.

The Espada's firm hands spun her so that she faced away from him, and then she felt soapy hands rubbing her back in something that was more like a massage than a back scrubbing. Thumbs and fingers dug into corded muscles, finding knots she had probably carried since death. The feeling was electric, even more so from the knowledge that it was Grimmjow touching her, who already aroused her and brought to the surface sensations she had no clue existed. She moaned at the feelings his strong hands invoked.

His hips brushed up against her, his groin making contact with her bottom. The feeling of his manhood rising, pressing against her ass, was different but not unpleasant. Something inside her excited at the thought that _she_ was making him hard. That this practiced rake couldn't keep his hands off of her. He rubbed his cock against her buttocks, growling softly. His touch on her body became more of a caress, more of an exploration. Slick hands rubbed her hips, her thighs, her buttocks. Soapy fingers teased her nipples into stiff peaks, despite the sultry heat of the shower. He nuzzled her wet hair, licking the water from her neck. Then he dropped the soap.

Not really thinking about the consequences, she bent over to pick up the bar. He groaned, gripping her hips. "You're a fucking _tease_ ," he hissed. The bar forgotten, she straightened. One of his hands strayed upwards to cup her lush breast, the other went downward. Clever fingers parted her folds and found that sensitive nub and circled slowly, deliberately. A surprised 'ah!' escaped her lips, turning into a wordless moan as he touched her skillfully. Every now and then his hips would buck against her, almost as though it was an automatic reflex. She could hear his heavy, harsh breathing even above the pattering rain of water that cascaded over them both.

There was a horizontal bar on the wall of the shower that she was facing. What its purpose was, she had no clue, but she had to grab it to keep herself upright when he brought those waves of pleasure to her, and her knees went weak as she gasped and moaned, her own hips moving in a reflex of their own.

"Gods you're hot," Grimmjow gasped out in a voice hoarse with lust. She felt like a harp string, wound tight, plucked and vibrating to his tune. Then he slid a finger inside her and curled it, and her senses left her briefly as she peaked, moaning out his name. "Oh _shit_!" he exclaimed, finger digging aggressively inside her suddenly amazingly slippery depths. He groaned, pulling the finger from her. She heard him sucking her juice from his finger, a growl rumbling in his throat.

She shuddered, feeling suddenly empty. She was bent over, gripping the bar for support. His hands were on her hips yet again, and his hot, hard cock rubbed hard against her mound. She wasn't able to stop herself from arching her back and sliding against him with a gasp, the mushroom head sliding under her and rubbing against that little button of ecstasy.

"Huh, eager, aren't you. Do you want it, huh, bitch? Do you want my cock in you, elf-slut?" he leaned down, hot breath tickling her ear. His whispered words, rife with aggression and barely restrained lust, drove away all thought. He set her on fire, turned her mind to a chaos of desire. All she could do was pant, letting go a ragged breath when he suddenly thrust, sliding his stiff manhood against her. Not in her yet, but _oh_ so close. She burned.

"Well? Do you want me to _fuck_ you?" Another well placed thrust emphasized the word 'fuck', bringing a gasp to her lips.

"Yes," she croaked, finding her tongue. "Yesssss," she hissed as he pulled back and then pressed into her, driving deep inside her. The both groaned, identical notes of pleasure echoing from their throats. She could feel him throbbing inside her, and then he started to move. Still sensitive from her previous orgasm, she gasped at the contact, thrusting back towards him.

"Damn, you're eager," he growled. He gripped her hip bones hard enough to bruise a living girl, grinding into her. She moved with him, taking in every inch.

Again, the feelings were exquisite. She reveled in his heat, his hardness, the slickness they shared. It wasn't long before he was bringing her to yet another peak, but this time he outlasted her orgasm, simply groaning a lust-filled obscenity in her ear at the feel of her rippling around him and continuing his relentless assault. His hands were all over – he especially seemed to enjoy her firm breasts and the stiff nipples he provoked there, but by no means did he limit his touch to them alone.

Then he bit her neck again and took her harder, and she realized he was close. Her breath coming in grating gasps, she let her body surrender to ecstasy again as he filled her with molten heat. They stood entwined for a moment, catching their breath, letting the hot rain of the shower spill down on them. Then, with a parting nip to her ear, he slid out of her.

"Come on, we better hurry if we're going to catch a bite before the meeting starts," Grimmjow said. Vellena noted that he completely ignored the fact that he had instigated any delay, but forbore to mention this nugget of truth. She'd had fun, after all.

After she retrieved the soap (without incident this time), the arrancar made good on his threat to scrub her back. She returned the favour, readily admitting to herself that she could see no disadvantages to this arrangement. It was interesting, touching and being touched without intent to kill. She wasn't used to it, but she liked it. It wasn't too much, though; neither she nor Grimmjow were exactly the touchy feely type. But she enjoyed the novelty nonetheless. She was happy enough to clean the wounds she herself had given him earlier – most of which seemed to be healing without trouble. The diseases she had inflicted looked to have long since passed.

They exited the stall, and she noticed with a wry twist to her mouth that the wily Sexto had brought his own towel and a clean uniform. He'd clearly had this planned out. Not that she minded.

She dried herself off and wrapped her towel around her, before grabbing her belt with its magic bags from the bathroom counter. She was halted in her progress to the door by Grimmjow's firm hand on her shoulder. She turned to meet his blue gaze.

"Wear the uniform," he said. Her mouth twitched – she didn't have much choice until she'd had a chance to repair the clothing he'd damaged. She nodded. "And leave the armour behind," he added.

She liked that less. "I'm keeping my weapons out," she said.

"Naturally."


	13. Lunch and Learn

Grimmjow halted the night elf as she moved towards the exit to her rooms. Extending his senses, he scanned the hallway. Nothing. Maybe it was goofy, but he still didn't know what Aizen would do when he found out he was banging the guest, and he didn't want Aizen's tip-off to come from that brownnoser Ulquiorra. He was momentarily glad that Vellena's uniform was such a high-collared one; he'd gotten a little carried away with the biting. He had a habit of biting during sex. It was the cat in him, he couldn't help it.

He led her through the austere white halls of the enormous palace, forgoing garganta for this trip. As they made their way through the halls, they passed other arrancar. He noted in addition to the usual mixture of fear, awe, respect, contempt and even desire his presence seemed to provoke, that Vellena garnered her share of speculative glances. No one stopped them or spoke to them, though. The Sexto's temper was legendary.

They arrived at the mess hall. Amid the rows of tables and chairs, several arrancar were already using the facility. Most took note of the arrival of the night elf and the Espada and went back to their meals. His fracción were gathered at one table. Good, that meant he wouldn't have to hunt them down before the meeting. It looked like they hadn't gone to get any food yet.

He gestured Vellena to follow him to the table and slid into a seat facing his fracción. The night elf took a seat beside him in silence. Her expressionless mask had returned the moment they left her room.

"Hey Grimmjow, is this the one from the other day? She looks different without her armour," piped D-Roy. No preamble, no greeting, the novelty of the newcomer was too much. Not that he ever stood much on formality with his boys. They knew their places. He was king.

"Yeah, this is Vellena. Vellena, these are my fracción; D-Roy, Shawlong, Nakeem, Yylfordt, and Edrad," he introduced each in turn.

"I am pleased to meet you all," stated Vellena. She faced the curious gazes of his fracción calmly.

"Which one of you wants to go get us something to eat?" Grimmjow asked. At his superior's question, Nakeem rose and bowed briefly before heading over to the food area. Yylfordt rose and followed him, giving one last look back at the assembled group before apparently deciding his curiosity could wait until everyone had food.

"Is it true you came from another world? That's what everyone is saying," Shawlong asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"Was it the living world? I wanted to go there someday and see what it's like. Hueco Mundo is so boring." That was Edrad.

"No. The world I am from is called Azeroth. There are living there, but it is not divided into worlds of dead and living as this realm seems to be. It is… very different," she said. "There are many races and factions. I am affiliated with one called the Knights of the Ebon Blade; our mandate is to bring down the Lich King, the tyrant who 'gifted' us with this unlife." She gave a wolfish smile. "Arthas _will_ fall." There was more than a hint of deadly intent in her steely voice.

Grimmjow had heard her talk about this before, but he was still mildly surprised at the amount of emotion the subject of Arthas evoked in this otherwise stone-cold female. She went back to her normal demeanor as his fracción began quizzing her about her homeworld with rapt attention. He only half listened. What did he care what gnorves and dwomes looked like (or was that dwarves and gnomes? Who cared?), or how many different kinds of elf there was – what did they need so many kinds for anyway? Flavour of the week? Although a land of cow people sounded tasty.

Yylfordt and Nakeem had returned with trays full of food, serving Grimmjow first, and then Vellena before distributing the bento boxes amongst the rest of the fracción. Wordlessly, he began eating, until he noticed Vellena struggling with the chopsticks, clearly attempting to mimic the way everyone around her was using them, and failing.

"Like this," he said, positioning her fingers correctly on the sticks, "this stick doesn't move. This one does. Yeah, you got it." She gave the sticks a few experimental clicks, and then successfully picked up a strip of broiled salmon and ate it. Caught on quick, good for her. "Guess you don't have chopsticks in Azeroth, huh?" he said, turning back to his food.

"Not that I am aware of. Mostly when I eat, I eat rations or preserved food out of my pack – it doesn't require utensils. I spend a lot of time travelling," she replied between bites.

"Travelling? What do you do?" Yylfordt was determined to get his chance to ask questions, Grimmjow noted.

"Mostly I kill things. Sometimes I get paid to do it. Sometimes I do other things, errands, little tasks and the like. I was delivering a routine missive to my superior when I was displaced," she said. "Every now and then I get together with associates and storm enclaves of enemies. That's always interesting."

"Sounds like fun," Edrad commented, clearly meaning the 'kill things' and 'storming enclaves of enemies' portion of her duties.

"I enjoy it, but it occasionally gets expensive. I can only repair my armour and weapons so many times myself before I need professional help, and that's pricey. My gear is constructed from some pretty hard-to-work materials, and heavily enchanted. And I need a proper runeforge for my weapons."

Armour. He didn't like it; it just got in the way. Better to have hierro, which didn't require repair and still permitted free range of movement. Although even Grimmjow had to admit she moved just as well in armour as out of it. He much preferred her out of it.

"Hurry up and eat, Aizen's got that meeting in twenty minutes," he interrupted their cheerful nattering. He really didn't feel up to another lecture about punctuality today, especially not with Vellena in tow.

"It's in the throne room this time, Grimmjow. There was an announcement circulated that fracción should accompany their Espada to this one, something Aizen-sama wishes to show everyone," Shawlong told him. His brightest fracción, Shawlong often served as Grimmjow's informant. Grimmjow never felt threatened by the other's intelligence – Shawlong was weak, if smart. And the tall arrancar had _always_ acknowledged Grimmjow's superiority, even back when they were adjuchas. He gave the other an appreciative nod at the information and went back to eating.

"I hope he makes an exception for Szayel and his oddball corps," Grimmjow snorted. He didn't want to share the room with all those wacky fracción of Szayel's. At least it wasn't going to be a tea party after all.

Several minutes later, everyone was finished, and he was hustling his little posse through the halls to the throne room. They managed to make it before too many others had show up; in time to get a spot on the tier he wanted. He sat down – well, sprawled might be a better word for it. Shawlong stood next to him. Vellena stood nearby, still as a statue, not even blinking. He couldn't even tell if she was breathing, hells, the only time he knew for sure when she was breathing was when he was fucking her. He tried to steer his mind from that subject, he didn't want to have to sit through the meeting with a case of blue balls.

The meeting would be starting soon, he thought. It looked like everyone was here, except for Yammy and Ulquiorra. Just as it occurred to him to wonder where they were, they walked into the throne room.


	14. Ulquiorra's Eye

Vellena stood attentively, observing the proceedings silently. The hall slowly filled, and finally two arrancar arrived together. She recognized Ulquiorra, who looked dwarfed next to an enormous, hulking beast of a man. He somewhat resembled a troll berserker in build. Except he was missing his right arm. The big guy dropped to his knee in a bow.

"We have returned, Aizen-sama," stated Ulquiorra.

"Welcome back, Ulquiorra, Yammi. Show your brethren what you experienced in the human world," Lord Aizen replied.

"As you wish," the diminutive Espada intoned. And Vellena witnessed first-hand how Ulquiorra used his eye to transmit information. The Cuatro pulled his eye from its socket, held it out and crushed it. As the room filled with shards, Vellena saw, heard, and felt everything Ulquiorra had experienced in the world of the living.

A world full of humans, chock-full of strange structures and technologies, all of which Ulquiorra took in stride (but which shocked Vellena when she witnessed it – it was so very very different from Azeroth). A battle with a large human who was easily defeated, an orange-haired girl with a miraculous power, another orange-haired boy who swung between worthlessly weak and terrifyingly strong, yet who was nevertheless on the verge of being utterly destroyed by the arrancar. The intervention of a pair of powerful shinigami. Ulquiorra removing himself and an enraged Yammi from the scene.

"I see," Aizen spoke. "So that's why you decided he wasn't worth killing."

"Yes, sir. Your orders were to kill him if he looked like he might become an interference. Also—," Ulquiorra did not get a chance to finish whatever he was trying to say, for Grimmjow picked that moment to interrupt.

"That's weak." The Sexto projected his voice easily in the chamber. "If it were me, I would have destroyed them in one hit." The blue-haired man sneered. Vellena decided that if it was the intent of her liaison to piss off Ulquiorra, he was succeeding quite handily, despite the fact that the Cuatro seemed as stone faced as she could be.

"Grimmjow…" the smaller Espada rumbled, ice in his tone.

"If your orders included the term 'kill him', then I'm pretty fucking sure you should have killed him, right?" Grimmjow continued, apparently unfazed by his compatriot's anger.

Beside her, Shawlong made a small sound before interjecting, "… I agree. The boy is an enemy. If there wasn't any value in killing him, there was none in leaving him alive."

"And Yammy!" Grimmjow continued, apparently not finished inciting the room yet, "You got your ass kicked! You might be saying 'it wasn't worth killing him,' but all _I_ hear is 'we couldn't kill him.'"

The big man glared at her liaison, resentment clear on his features. "Hey Grimmjow, weren't you paying attention? I got beat by sandal-guy and the dark chick, not by the brat."

"You really don't get it, do you?" Grimmjow's voice was full of sneering bravado. "I said I would kill them _all_ with one attack."

"What was that?" Yammy snarled, only to be stilled by a single gesture from Ulquiorra.

"Enough. Grimmjow, you _do_ understand that our problem is not the kid, right?" At Grimmjow's uncomprehending 'huh', the Cuatro continued. "Aizen-sama sent us to observe, not the kid's current state, but his rate of growth. He is potentially powerful, it's true, but his power is unstable because of it. If we leave him alone, he may just destroy himself, or end up one of ours. _That's_ why I left him alive."

"That's why I keep saying that's bullshit! What if his power grows even larger than you've calculated and he becomes a _real_ obstacle? Then what?!"

"If _that_ happens, I'll simply destroy him." Ulquiorra's tone indicated that he thought it was unlikely. Grimmjow was speechless, for once. The Cuatro went on, "I see you have no further complaints."

Aizen spoke at last. "Despite what your brothers might say, I am satisfied with your work, Ulquiorra."

The tear-marked Espada bowed. "I am very grateful, Aizen-sama."

Vellena's sensitive ears caught a derisive 'che' from Grimmjow, who forbore to say anything more. Privately, Vellena agreed with him. It was foolish to leave an enemy at one's back, especially if you _knew_ that enemy had the potential to grow into a problem. Knowing the law of perversity that seemed to rule the universe, that enemy would no doubt be the force that destroyed you in the end. She didn't think things were any different here. And judging by the way the boy had defended his comrades, he wasn't likely to willingly come over to Aizen's side.

Having watched the fight and all its attendant dynamics, she was starting to wonder about what she had been told about the shinigami and Aizen's purpose. The shinigami had fought _defensively_ , and had seemed to be more concerned with reducing harm to their side than destroying Aizen's forces. However, she knew there were multiple stories to any war. She suspected there was more going on than she had been told, but she would bide her time. It wasn't her battle.

She suspected that part of Grimmjow's outburst came from jealousy. He didn't seem like the type to enjoy sitting around at home while his comrades in arms got into a good fight, not at all. These arrancar were a tangled nest of rivalries and power struggles, that much was sure.

"That girl," Aizen stated, interrupting the thoughts of the gathered arrancar (and guest), "has a very interesting power. Very interesting indeed. You've given us much to think about, Ulquiorra." With that, he seemed to dismiss the assembly. Arrancar began exiting the room. Grimmjow huffed quietly and stood.

"Come on, let's get the hell out of here. I don't want to sit around here any longer," her liaison said.

On their way out of the room, the one she knew as Szayel approached them. She was aware of Grimmjow taking a challenging stance, but the pink-haired man merely gave a smug smile and ignored the belligerent Sexto.

"Vellena," Szayel stated, readjusting his glasses with a slight smile. "Aizen-sama has requested that I aid you in your return to your own world. I wish to run some tests, to see how we could go about returning you."

"Tests, huh? I'm coming," Grimmjow said.

"Absolutely not. You'd no doubt destroy delicate equipment, or ingest something you shouldn't, or otherwise become a nuisance. It was bad enough having you in one of my labs the other day, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let you rampage through them now," Szayel snapped. "If you _really_ want, you can hover outside the door waiting while I run the tests." His voice was sickly sweet, mocking.

Grimmjow was silent, no doubt glaring away at the other man. Finally he humphed, "whatever," and stalked off. It looked like she would be accompanying Szayel to his lab. She had no concerns – she was starting to catch on to this business of sensing each other's presence and powers. Szayel would not stand against her, if it came to a challenge. And he could very well be her only ticket out of here. Best let him do whatever he had in mind.

The other arrancar gestured for her to follow, and she did.


	15. Getting a Little Testy

The lab he led her to was dark, crowded with mysterious devices, and stuffy. She had no doubt that he intended it to have an oppressive feel. Fortunately for her, she could see perfectly in the dim light, and she wasn't prone to feeling intimidated.

"Have a seat, my dear." Despite his wording, his tone was perfunctory and cold. Szayel gestured to a chair, perched on something that looked like it might be an adjustable pedestal of some sort. Wordlessly, she sat. As she leaned back into the chair, bindings snapped around her chest, legs, arms, ankles and wrists.

"Is that necessary?" she demanded coldly. She could probably brute force her way out of these if she had to, but that wouldn't get her anywhere closer to home.

"It's automatic. Sometimes research subjects need to be restrained. An arrancar that flails about while I'm taking a blood sample or giving them an injection risks damage to themselves and my facilities, neither of which are acceptable." His tone was curt. He made no move to release her.

"I am capable of remaining perfectly still in the face of intense damage," she stated.

"Nevertheless, you can remain like that for now."

She wondered if he was attempting to punish her for using his forge without asking permission the other day. Or if, perhaps, he was attempting to get at Grimmjow somehow by using her. Or maybe he was just an asshole. Anything was possible, she supposed.

"I need to ask you to answer a few questions. Answer them truthfully, every piece of data may be necessary in returning you to your world." He said. She said nothing. He raised a clipboard (she'd seen something similar being used by gnomes before), and a writing implement, and continued speaking to her, gazing disinterestedly at the papers in his hands. His attitude towards his research subject was dispassionate, aloof.

"Subject Vellena Nightwind. Female, six feet, two inches, one hundred ninety-eight pounds. Hair, green. Skin… purple. Eyes…" he looked at her for a moment. "blue, glowing. Species?"

"Kaldorei – that is, night elf." Her reply brought a flurry of scratching noises and he penned down her response.

"Are you pregnant?" She raised her eyebrow at that.

"That would be impossible."

"Are you?" he repeated, more forcefully.

"No. I am undead."

"Current health status?"

"Undead. Superficial cuts and punctures to the skin, some bruises, currently healing. No significant wounds." That had him looking at her briefly in slight interest before going back to his clipboard.

"Age?"

 _That_ was a hard question. She was silent perhaps a little longer than he was willing to endure.

"Is this some kind of 'a lady never tells' bullshit?" he snapped.

"I'm trying to remember. Do you want how long I've been undead, or how long I lived before that?" she replied.

"How about both?"

She had to think about that. The first was easy, but the second… she couldn't remember much of her life. The last hint she'd had about her actual age was when she had visited Darnassus for the first time after rejoining the Alliance.

_She had wandered by the Temple of the Moon, struck by the simultaneous sense of familiarity and strangeness. Ignoring the fearful gazes of the night elves and other members of the Alliance who wandered by, she stood, gazing up at the massive edifice._

_A gasp from someone behind her, followed by a woman's voice calling her by her name gave her cause to turn. Another night elf woman, wearing the vestments of someone relatively highly positioned in Elune's priesthood stood, staring at her._

" _I heard you were killed in action in the Eastern Plaguelands. But here you are… you're_ dead _, aren't you? You're one of_ them _, one of those_ Death Knights. _" The woman's voice was filled with emotions. Disgust, fear, sorrow… so many things carried in that woman's tone._

" _You know—knew me," Vellena replied, facing the woman._

" _Yes, I_ knew _you," the woman's emphasis made it clear that this was not longer the case. "I knew you and Markuritan both. I tried to tell you both not to go to Light's Hope – that it was no place for us, but you_ insisted _. You said the Argent Dawn needed all champions of the Light it could take. 'A priest and priestess who had served Elune faithfully for fifteen hundred years,' you said, 'would be an asset in the fight against the Scourge.' But here you are. You're undead, and Markuritan is_ gone, _" the other elf spat._

" _Who… who is Markuritan?" Vellena asked. It felt like she should know who that is. She felt like she should know who this woman was, what this woman meant to her. There was so much emotion in the other, so much grief, pain, and rage. She must have been something to this person. But what?_

" _Who is Markuritan? Vellena, you've forgotten your own_ husband _? My_ brother _?" the other person gasped. Husband? Vellena could remember_ nothing _. She was vaguely aware that she should feel distress at this, but she didn't._

" _I do not remember him. I do not remember you." The Death Knight turned away from the distraught woman, whose face was now streaked with tears. Vellena walked away from the Temple of the Moon. She had been wrong; there was nothing for her here._

"Well?" Szayel's cold voice interrupted her thoughts.

"I have been undead for five years. Prior to that, I was alive for at least fifteen hundred years," Vellena said. "I do not know my exact age. That is how long I was a priestess of Elune, according to someone who knew me when I was alive."

The scratching stopped, and Szayel gazed at her. "One thousand, five hundred years? Is such a lifespan normal for your kind?"

"It was, before the demon lord Archimonde corrupted Nordrassil, the world tree, and took our immortality," she stated. He'd started writing again.

"Ah yes, I believe you mentioned something about this world tree in Aizen's throne room."

He put the clipboard down and turned towards her, bearing a tray that held a number of vials labeled in an unfamiliar writing, and objects that she didn't recognize. Grabbing her left arm, he rotated it in the cuff, exposing the inside of her elbow. He pressed one of the veins there, then swabbed the area with something that felt cool and wet. With a swift motion, he attached a vial to a needle-tipped device and slid the needle into her vein. She didn't so much as twitch. Her thick, black ichor flowed slowly into the tube.

"This shall take a while, I see," Szayel said. It did. Almost ten minutes had passed before he managed to fill the collection of vials with her blood. Then he tapped parts of her body with a little hammer (which apparently had no effect on her), attempted to take her pulse (apparently she had one, which she hadn't known – it was just very slow), took her temperature (cold), and her blood pressure (low). He shined a bright light in here eyes and attempted to look in them, and did the same to her ears. She sat there, motionless and without comment.

Finally he finished scribbling on his pad, and made a slightly annoyed sound. "I need a reiatsu sample from you. Has anyone spoken to you about rieatsu?"

"Yes," she said, not in a mood to elaborate. She had been quizzed, forced to recall unpleasant memories, poked with a needle, banged with a little tiny hammer, prodded and explored in more ways than she cared to consider. She was feeling slightly annoyed. She didn't understand how any of this would help her get home.

"Then I suppose you know how to emanate reiatsu?"

"Yes."

"Then do so." He produced a strange device and held it aloft. Vellena concentrated on her power as she had when Grimmjow had first explained reiatsu to her, letting it flow through all parts of her body, letting it fill the air around her. "Good," Szayel said, eyes never leaving the device he held. There was a glass tube in it, filling up with a dark red substance. Was that her reiatsu?

"You can stop," he said, when the tube filled totally. She stopped. "When you fought Nnoitra the other day, you used different kinds of power. Can you replicate those?"

He'd seen the fight? She didn't recall seeing him in the sparring room. No matter. "I would have to be in combat. I could activate the runes on my sword, but without intent, it would not do much. The longer I am fighting, the more that power builds up," she said. He humphed.

"Now tell me about everything you experienced when you came to this world," he said. Finally, this sounded like something that might actually be useful. Vellena related everything she remembered about the moments leading up to her ending up in Hueco Mundo, including the feeling of something wrong while being pulled through the Twisting Nether. She related the details of her first moments in this new world, including trying to summon Coldgaze, use her hearthstone, and use her Death Gate, all of which failed.

"Hearthstone, what is that? I don't suppose I could see it?" Szayel asked, an avid look on his face.

"If you release me, I will recover it from my bags." Apparently that was all it took. The arrancar flipped a switch and the restraining bands flipped away from her body and retracted into the chair. She stretched, joints cracking, and fished around in her bags. Producing the hearthstone, she handed it to Szayel, who took it and examined it, turning it over in his hands.

"May I keep this for a few days? I wish to run some tests on it." It was the first time he'd actually _asked_ anything politely.

"It's useless to me right now. Keep it if you think it will help you return me to my world; just give it back when you actually do so," she said. He placed the small, cool stone in a clear bag of some sort, and scribbled a label in black ink on the container.

"Do you have any more of those scrolls?"

"No. The last one I had brought me here. I could make more, but I don't have the supplies."

"What do you need for supplies?"

She rattled off the inks, the herbs she would need to produce them, and parchments she would need to produce scrolls, and he looked at her with a blank expression.

"I think we'll consider that a non-possibility," he said, "I have never heard of any of those substances except for parchment, and I would be unable to replicate them without greater knowledge of what they are," she nodded, she'd expected as much.

"Very well, we're done here. Go," se said. That was it? Wordlessly, the night elf rose from the chair and exited the lab.

A slightly irritated Yylfordt was waiting outside. Seeing Vellena emerge from the lab, he gestured for her to follow. She did.


	16. Plan of Action

"Are you related to him?" Vellena asked her escort. She had realized that the blonde arrancar bore more than a passing resemblance to Szayel. They moved in similar ways, their faces had similar structure. It struck her all of a sudden.

Yylfordt apparently didn't need to be told who 'him' was. "He's my younger brother," the fracción said, sounding slightly disgruntled. No love lost there, apparently. Which would explain why he was Grimmjow's fracción rather than Szayel's.

"What is his rank?"

"Octavo Espada. The eighth. Come on, Grimmjow told me to take you back to his quarters when you were finished. The rest of us are there already." So Szayel was an Espada, but lower ranked than Grimmjow. And Yylfordt clearly didn't want to talk about it.

Instead, he asked her some of the questions he'd apparently missed her answers to earlier, when he was fetching food. Not minding the repetition, she answered them again. It passed the time quickly. They arrived at Grimmjow's rooms, the unfamiliar symbol for 'six' painted on the door in the same style as his tattoo. Yylfordt opened the door and gestured for her to precede him.

She stepped inside, and was a little surprised to note that all of his fracción were indeed there, though she shouldn't have been. Yylfordt _had_ said they were all waiting. Seated on couches and chairs, one on a large blue pillow on the floor, and Shawlong standing, they were all there. Grimmjow was sitting cross-legged on a white rug that was trimmed in the same sky blue colour as his hair, his chin in his hand. At her arrival, he looked up.

"Still in one piece, I see. That's good," he commented dryly. Apparently Grimmjow knew what went on in Szayel's lab. "Find a seat."

She knelt on the floor, sitting on her heels with her hands on her thighs. Grimmjow's mouth twitched briefly, and something familiar from earlier in the day flickered through his eyes for just a moment. Just for a moment, though, because apparently he had other things on his mind right now.

"Alright, now we're all here. We're going to the human world, tomorrow night," he said. A few of his fracción rustled, and she noted eagerness, trepidation, and a hint of bloodlust on their faces. Shawlong looked thoughtful, but he already struck her as the most introspective of the lot.

"We're going to kill the kid?" the tall fracción asked.

"Yeah. I don't agree with leaving a guy like that lying around, waiting to get stronger," Grimmjow said. His intense blue gaze shifted, resting on Vellena. "What do you think?"

Well, that was a clear invitation for her input if she'd ever heard one. "I agree. Leaving an enemy like that behind is like leaving a weapon lying around. It will be turned against you. Many a defeat has come from letting an enemy retreat to become stronger." She was quiet for a moment… In a purely strategic sense, Arthas had made the same goof concerning the Knights of the Black Hand, a goof that would come back to destroy him if the Knights had any say in the matter. There were again parallels with her own situation, and she was once again not so sure precisely which side she was on, and which side she should be on. But she still needed to return home somehow, and Aizen's forces were her best bet. She continued. "I do not share Ulquiorra's assessment; after the damage done to his friends, there is no way a hot-blooded youth like that would turn to the faction he viewed as responsible for that damage for an alliance. That leaves only one way for him to continue – as our enemy. And if he gains help controlling himself, he will become a danger."

"Yeah, about what I thought. You're coming with us," Grimmjow said. She had suspected that would be the case – she didn't think he would have included her in this meeting otherwise. This was a bit beyond his duties as a liaison. "We're going to kill anything and everything that might be a threat. Go get some rest."

The Espada rose, making a dismissive gesture with his hand. His fracción, apparently used to this, trickled out of his apartments. She shifted, ready to rise to follow them, but a look from Grimmjow halted her. He held her there with his eyes until the last fracción left, then let her rise as he stood himself. In an instant he was beside her, using that movement technique again.

"I like how you look on your knees. Tomorrow when we come back victorious, I want to see you like that again," he whispered in her ear. She felt the heat rise in her face at the thought. His hand gripped the hair at the back of her head gently before sliding down to touch her neck. She turned her head towards him. Those crazy, intense blue eyes caught hers – she had never witnessed eyes like that, with such a captivating power. Such a far cry from the faintly glowing silver of night elf eyes. At some moments, they seemed to take on a feline cast, with vertical pupils instead of round. Like they had now.

His lips parted, revealing his sharp teeth, the hint of fangs at his eye teeth. He pulled her to his body, hungry mouth on hers. The hand on the back of her head threaded through her hair again, keeping her where he wanted her. His other was in the small of her back. She kissed him back, fairly certain that when his fang got her lip that it was deliberate. Her own hand rose, brushing against the bone fragment on his face, apparently of its own volition. Surprisingly, it was warm to the touch, as warm as his skin, and smooth.

After a few minutes, he broke away with a growl. "Later," he said, giving her a look that promised a repeat of their earlier activities – just not now. He turned away from her, going towards what he assumed was his sleeping room, if his quarters were laid out like hers own. She turned to the exit, and, taking his earlier caution to heart, extended the senses she was learning to develop. After a moment she decided there was no one in the corridor, and she exited. She met no one on the way back to her rooms.

The next day, she didn't see Grimmjow at all until it was time to go. She found her way to Szayel's lab, pleased that she did indeed remember how to get there, and got permission to use his forge once more. This day he seemed far more polite, indeed, almost suspiciously so.

With the prospect of what was sure to be a _real_ fight coming up, she wanted her armour and weapons in tip top shape. She repaired the minor damage caused by Nnoitra and Grimmjow, and ensured that her weapons were ready. She checked all of them – the longswords, the axe, the polearm, the heavy, bonecrushing mace, and… the weapon that had started it all. Carefully, she withdrew it from her pack – Sanguiferrous, the wicked, two-handed sword shining; all shades of red from bright, fresh-spilled heart's blood to congealed, dark, old blood.

The blade was huge, more than half a foot wide where it met the cross-guard, and as tall as she was. The riser and ricasso were decorated with depictions of the screaming faces of demons. Each wide, bright red edge of the double-edged bastard sword was etched with runes so dark a red they were nearly black. The quillons were spiked with curving talons, and the pommel had a straight, sharp spike that was perfect for putting through skulls. She should know, she'd used it for exactly that a time or two. Despite its size and weight, the blade was like a feather in her hands, perfectly balanced. She could wield it two-handed or one handed.

Her other weapons were weapons with runes; Sanguiferrous was a Runeblade. Semi-intelligent and willful, it had completed her transformation from what would have been mindless undead to Death Knight. Its bloodthirsty pull was _always_ there. She avoided using it as much as she could; even with the iron will she had gained when she broke free of Arthas' control, it was difficult to keep Sanguiferrous from taking over. Its drive for survival was powerful, however, and it could be a potent asset on the battlefield. The sword would do a lot to keep her alive if it came to that.

The blade didn't need much work – whatever terrifying magic created it made sure of that. But she nevertheless checked it over, ensured it was clean and that there was no dried blood caked in any of the details, or in the deep blood gutters, and giving the edge one last check (the process of which opened her finger effortlessly, but her blood on this blade in small, voluntary amounts only strengthened their bond). Suppressing the feeling of separation, she returned Sanguiferrous to her pack. As the bag closed, the feeling it inspired, like a heady, bloodthirsty whisper in the back of her mind, that was too quiet, too distorted to make out any actual words, subsided. She sighed with relief.

Nightfall was as undetectable in Las Noches, and Hueco Mundo, as daybreak was. It was always night in Hueco Mundo. But she knew, all the same, when the time had come to leave. Some sixth sense of impending battle drew her back to Grimmjow's quarters in time to encounter the rest of his gathering fracción.

"Great, it looks like we're all here," Grimmjow nodded to Vellena, acknowledging her armour. He wasn't complaining about it now. His eyes lit on the hilts of the two swords – they were honestly her preferred weapons. She knew he was considering them, comparing them to her axe – the only other weapon he'd seen her wield. Apparently he'd decided it was her choice and nodded briefly.

"How are we traveling?" she asked.

"Garganta."

So that ability went between worlds as well as between places within this one? That was handy knowledge. She prepared herself to pay attention to this.

The difference was subtle but there… and she caught it, understood it. They raced through the passageway, reality parting in front of them, revealing a cool night sky. She stopped before stepping out into the naked air – she didn't fly. These guys might be able to, but she couldn't, and her armour would avail her none if she hit the ground in it. It would merely ensure her demise.

"I've got you," said Shawlong, with one long-fingered hand wrapped around her upper arm. "You won't fall."

They stepped into the night.


	17. The Night of Knives

The air was cool, the city below seemed quiet. Karakura- _town_ , she'd heard it called, but it was far larger than any town she'd witnessed. It was larger than most cities she knew. A sea of rooftops lay below them, interspaced with treed lanes, parks, poles with lines strung between them, and strangely paved roads buzzing with odd mechanical creations. There were buildings taller than the tallest mage towers she'd seen, speckled with dots of light.

The world buzzed with activity, and every sentient thing in it was human. What a strange notion.

"We all in?" Grimmjow asked, then continued without waiting for an answer, "use your pesquisa. If you find anything with a shred of reiatsu… _kill it_." He snarled with a grin, then closed his eyes and concentrated. Everyone else did the same. Vellena didn't – her reiatsu-sensing abilities were getting better, but she wasn't able to do this yet, if ever.

Grimmjow cursed briefly. "They're multiplying like insects. Reinforcements from Soul Society. Oh well. Kill them all." He extended a hand to the night elf. She took it, feeling a little unsteady as she was passed from Shawlong to Grimmjow. "You're coming with me," he said to her. Then he waved a dismissive hand, and his fracción dispersed instantly.

"The kid?" Vellena asked. The Espada hadn't stopped smiling, and he looked positively bloodthirsty.

"Yeah," he drawled. "I think I found him. Let's go." Under his control, they travelled faster than she would have thought possible. The scenery around them became a blur. "He's on the move – there's someone else with him I think. Going to D-Roy's location. Shit," Grimmjow said, the wind from their passage tearing his words from his lips. She could still hear him – her hearing was beyond excellent.

There was an explosion of ice, and she heard Grimmjow growl. D-Roy struck her as the weakest of his fracción. She understood his concern – if it could be called that. "SHIT!" he roared again as a column of ice pierced the sky. She felt something, a knowledge derived from her rudimentary reiatsu sense. D-Roy had fallen. "I'm going to _kill_ that little fucker!" She knew he was referring to the shinigami kid. Grimmjow's voice was high with rage, he radiated deadly intent.

They zeroed in on the source of power, suddenly slowing in the sky a few feet from the ground. He released her, and she dropped lithely to her feet. Two figures in black were turning at their sudden presence – the carrot-topped boy and a short black-haired girl she did not recognize.

"What's this?" roared Grimmjow, "D-Roy's murderer is still hanging around? You won't get away. _I'll kill you both!_ I'm the Sexto arrancar, Grimmjow. Remember it!"

Her presence seemed forgotten for now. Vellena stood down, waiting to see what occurred. Grimmjow was bellowing at the two shinigami, demanding to know which one was stronger. The short black-haired one was screaming at the kid to flee. She didn't scream long – Grimmjow put his hand through her chest. She was impressed with the arrancar's strength. The girl dropped.

"Rukia!" the kid screamed. He launched himself at the laughing Espada.

With no opponent, she observed the violent battle. She didn't get to watch for long. Footsteps pounded behind her, she turned to meet the runner. A black-clad, sword-wielding man pelted down the paved walkway, spiky red hair streaming from the ponytail at the top of his head, barely kept in check by the head-band which obscured black tattoos. "Rukia!" he shouted, spying the corpse of the short one. "Damn you, arrancar, you'll pay!"

Here was her opponent. She drew her swords. The sound of steel being drawn halted him, and he turned his attention to her. "Grimmjow is busy," she said flatly.

"Who the hell are you?" the shinigami demanded.

"Vellena Nightwind, Knight of the Ebon Blades," she replied. It was simple courtesy.

"Uhn, Abarai Renji, lieutenant of the Sixth… _you aren't arrancar_! What the fuck?!" he interrupted himself. If the situation hadn't been so deadly serious, she would have found that almost funny enough to laugh.

"That doesn't matter. The tyranny of your kind will not be tolerated," she said, gazing at him through the gaps of her gruesome helmet. He put his sword out in a guard position.

"What do you mean by that?!" he yelled. She attacked, guarding against his two-handed return strike easily with her left blade, but failing to connect with the right. He was fast and agile, a lot faster than she expected. And he seemed to know the same teleportation trick Grimmjow and Nnoitra had pulled – vanishing only to appear several yards farther back a split second later.

"What the hell?!" seriously, did the guy have any other tone than yelling outraged confusion? "I don't know what you are Nightwind-temee, but you're in the way and I'm not going to hold back. _Howl, Zabimaru_!"

It seemed he was done clowning around. As she watched, ready to retaliate, his power flared. The sword in his hand became some kind of sword breaker-looking thing – it looked almost segmented. Even though he was too far away to effectively attack, he swung it at her. To her surprise, the segments parted, streaming towards her. Not a sword breaker – a sword _whip_. Her hurried parry was just in time, the sudden impact making the ribbing connecting the segments ripple like a wave.

The whip-blades retracted, snapping back and reassembling themselves as a sword with a click. Shit. She hated ranged opponents. She had to leap aside to avoid the sudden strike of his blade again as it coiled through the air, around and behind her. It hit the pavement where she had been standing, sending shards of the weird paving material flying and raising a cloud of dust.

She would need speed for this fight. She focused her energy on increasing her speed, her reaction time. She'd probably need a different weapon, but there wasn't time for that right now! Dodging again, she ducked under a sweeping coil, feeling the passage of a breeze on the tip of one ear – a little too close that time.

They both paused as they felt and incredible shockwave of power from Grimmjow and the kid. Then they faced each other again. Other peoples' battles would have to wait.

She had to close with him or she'd end up doing nothing but dodge his swirling weapon. Springing from the crouch, she raised her hand and lashed him with unholy power, yanking him into the path of her fist with one smooth movement. Frigid, plate-gauntleted fist met shinigami face with a nasty crack, using her sword's hilt as a structural brace. She lost her grip on him when she had to sidestep the flanking slash that came somewhat quicker than she expected, and then she didn't make it far enough away.

They both took a few steps backwards – the shinigami stumbled, free hand reaching for his broken, bloody nose; Vellena shifting in her armour. A quick mental assessment reassured her that the spines on his sword only made it through in places – some kind of lucky strike. All the same, he seemed worse off.

She recovered first. With a huff of exertion, she lashed out with glowing green swords. Eyes wide, he grabbed her right blade with his bare hand, shouting out a burbling sound of pain as she used unholy rune magic to infect him with a painful fever. Her other blade he deflected incompletely with his backside of his own – she only managed to graze the top of his shoulder. Then those damn spines tangled her up and she lost her left blade, the glowing runes winking out as it hit the ground.

She was able to retrieve it at her leisure, because he was a little busy with her disease. He turned an odd green shade that clashed with his red hair and clutched his stomach with his blistered left hand. Bending over, he retched on the street.

Head lifting, he spotted something behind her, expression changing to dismay. "—'Ukia! Sday dowd'!" he shouted, before regaining a surprised look and curling over to vomit yet again.

"Renji!" she heard the shinigami woman's voice, cracked with pain and fear. "Hadō number thirty-three—," Vellena whirled, amazed that the woman she thought was a corpse was up again, standing, and obviously casting. "Blue fire crash—!" she didn't get a chance to finish. Vellena gestured. The girl froze, making a choking noise, hand going to her throat. Her eyes rolled. She pitched over backwards, unconscious or dead.

"I hate casters…" muttered Vellena.

"Dabbid! 'Ukia! Bidch, you'll pay for 'dat! Ba'KAI!"

 _Uh oh,_ thought Vellena, turning back to her opponent as she felt the explosion of power from him. Clouds of dust or smoke obscured her vision briefly, then cleared. _Yep, definitely 'uh oh.'_

* * *


	18. It's Not the Size That Counts...

Surrounding the figure of her opponent in an ever-moving coil was a… huge bone worm? Snake? Fanged jaws opened, reptilian eyes glared at her balefully, and it shrieked.

_Was that his_ sword?! She didn't have too much time to wonder, because the thing was flying towards her a lot faster than she liked. She crossed her swords in front of her and braced for the hit she _knew_ would suck, grunting when the head hit her. She slid several yards straight back before losing her footing and falling backwards, her helmet sailing clear off her head at the impact. The huge head of the thing kept on going, but the massive, undulating body crushed against her, slamming her into the hard ground. Her weapons went flying. She briefly considered a weapon chain. This was becoming a habit.

The huge… _thing_ … kept going, lifting from her body and sailing up into the sky. Gasping, she rolled to her feet, reaching into her pack for her axe. Those swords would be useless against this thing. Goddamn it, that stung a bit! Good thing she was already dead or that might actually be an impediment. _Hoshithereitcomesagain!_

With a strangled roar, she swung the blade of her massive axe with all her strength at the oncoming head. As it struck, she released the frost runes. A shrieking boom echoed through the night at the sudden change in temperature, frost immediately riming her, the bone head, freezing the red mane around it, and travelling down a significant portion of its segmented body. The head whipped back, away from her.

Bone cracked, flaking from the intense cold of her attack. The vertebrae crumbled, separating from each other and falling to the ground, so many hollow rings. The great head crashed with a thundering sound, coming to a rest with jaws open and eyes unlit. There was billowing dust and fog from her ice everywhere, obscuring her sight. It would be a few moments before it would clear. She found and sheathed her swords, plonked her helmet back on, and made her way through the thick clouds, axe over her shoulder.

"Shid! Say 'libid 'elease' al'eady!" It was easy to find him in the thick cloud with him shouting like that. As the smoke cleared, he caught sight of her coming towards him. "Shid!" he shouted again. She raised her axe.

"Captain, Renji, _the limit release has been approved!_ " she heard a woman's voice, tinny and distorted, issuing from some device in his possession.

"Aboud dime!" her opponent snarled. A glowing flower appeared on his chest. _A glowing flower?!_

He looked up at her, grinning. The ground rumbled, a sudden breeze blowing the smoke away. Or was that from him? The bones of his strange weapon rose of their own volition, threading back together with bonds of reddish energy. Realizing that this was about to get bad again, she lashed out. It was a premature attack – what should have severed his torso from his body instead just produced a superficial slash across his chest. Then those huge coils knocked her aside as the reformed snake curled around him, head rearing up with a roar.

At least his sword-whip appeared to have to follow some kind of physical rules. This enormous thing was entirely free of such annoying constraints as 'gravity.' and 'reasonable size,' or even 'speed and agility in keeping with its ridiculous size.' Vellena didn't have time enough to roll completely out of its path, and she was knocked from the feet she was only beginning to regain. Then it was around again for another pass at her, and she didn't manage to dodge at all.

It struck with the force of a magnataur in full rampage, and before she knew it, Vellena was trying to keep herself from being crushed in its massive jaws. Sharp teeth crunched down on her, deforming titansteel plate and even punching clean through in places. She could feel it when the thing changed direction, shooting straight up. The great jaws opened again, and she flailed, not really rationally thinking about what would happen if she got free. The jaws started to close around her and she tucked, making herself as small as she could.

Teeth barely missed her as her view of the world outside was cut off the closure of scissoring jaws. _Ok, enough of this!_ she thought angrily, considering how she might get out of this situation. She'd lost her axe somewhere and had nothing to use to deliver any of her nasty runic tricks just yet. She'd have to do something else— with a quick hope that the thing didn't change direction suddenly, she rearranged herself and pushed mightily against its jaws, resolutely marshalling her unrelenting undead strength. Inch by labourious inch, she began to force those jaws apart. She was able to stand for a brief interlude.

Movement out of the corner eye had her turning her attention for just a moment, just in time to catch a glimpse of Grimmjow skidding to a halt in the sky nearby, looking a little worse for wear than when she'd last seen him. He flashed a slightly puzzled look her direction, as though surprised to see her where she was, then they both had to turn back towards their respective battles.

She was _waaay_ too high up. She didn't have a lot of time to think about that before the thing was attempting once more to bite down on her. She endured the sudden crushing pressure, letting it push her down. She waited for the exact moment when it stopped biting and started opening, and forced back with a sudden burst of strength. The jaws went whipping apart, and she nearly went tumbling straight out of its mouth and headfirst for the ground hundreds of feet below. It bucked most disconcertingly at her attack, and she _did_ fall out. She was fast enough to grab hold of the red mane before she fell to her death.

_Not_ a much better position than before! _Ok, think Vellena_! The only way she was going to get down was if the snake let her dow… Grinning, she swung herself closer to the huge bone body of the thing, and then took a chance. She was dead either way if she didn't try it.

How convenient for the thing to come with its very own ladder rungs, in the form of those spikes running all the way down to the ground!

For the next moments, her attention was focused entirely on making sure she was able to grab the next rung, and the next, and the next, in what was really more like a barely controlled plummet than an orderly descent. And the thing kept moving, which made things a little more difficult, but somehow she managed. The shinigami looked a more than a little surprised to see her hurtling down the back of his minion. She spotted her axe on the ground and judged the distance safe enough to jump.

Vellena hit the pavement feet first, with an 'oof'. Scooping up the weapon, she regained her stance. She was still farther away from the guy than she'd prefer – her axe had somehow ended up a couple hundred yard's dash away from him. She started running across the distance between them. The huge snake whirled up.

"Hikōdsu-daihō!" she heard the shinigami yell. Booming crimson power rippled through the body of the snake, separating each segment as it rolled through its body, making its way to the head that was pointed _straight at her_! The echoing energy was as destructive as Nnoitra's yellow beam. She raised her axe in front of her like a makeshift shield, pouring the residual power she had accumulated throughout the battle into a magic-negating sphere around her. It flew into place _just_ as the huge red ball erupted from the snake's mouth, shock wave visibly dogging it.

The power of it seared the air around her and kept on going, crashing through trees, houses, who knew what else. When it had passed, she lowered her axe, looking up, feeling slightly surprised that she still existed. Apparently the red-headed shinigami shared her shock, because he was giving her a gape-mouthed look of sheer dismay.

And it seemed that his weapon (if such a thing was a weapon rather than some kind of minion) wasn't able to recover from that incredible attack, at least not that quickly. It was being held shakily together with glowing red tendrils of power, but it was clear that it wasn't going to be coming at her any time soon. Realizing that she had a chance, she tore towards her opponent.

She was yards from striking range when the unmistakable feel of a garganta opening nearby had her freezing in her tracks. Both she and the shinigami looked up. She heard his sharp intake of breath ( _in recognition_?) at the sight of Tōsen standing in the air. The visored ex-captain turned his face towards her.

"Enough." Even though he was still pretty distant, she heard his voice as though he was right beside her.

She turned briefly to the red-haired man. "I'm sorry, but it seems that I must leave. It looks like you get a reprieve, shinigami," she stated flatly. When she looked back, Tōsen had collected Grimmjow, who looked more than a little frustrated, and quite bloody. She turned and walked towards Tōsen, slinging the axe across her back as she accepted the dark-skinned man's offered hand. As they rose in the sky, she saw the red-head's snake come apart, thudding to the ground as he slumped, exhausted. There was an empty feeling that told her that she and Grimmjow were the only survivors of this expedition. Her last glimpse of the world of the living was the orange-haired boy making his way to the shinigami girl, who was shifting slightly. The garganta closed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So to the one person I see who is reading this... thanks. I hope you like it. It's an old story that I'm fixing up a few problems with and posting here from the other big fanfiction site, I wrote it before Cata came out (and before Bleach shat the bed). I had some problems with how I punctuated dialogue, which I am fixing in this version. 
> 
> This is old work, but when I reread it I don't hate it, so that's good I guess.


	19. Sometimes He Doesn't Land on His Feet

He'd fucked up, miscalculated. His fracción were _dead_ ; wiped out of existence by those goddamn shinigami, and the worst was that he _knew_ if they'd gone the first night, before they could get reinforcements in, his self-given mission would have succeeded. Of the seven who had gone to the real world, only two returned – himself and Vellena. _All_ of their opponents survived, though it would probably be touch and go with the little shinigami bitch he'd put his fist through, especially with what Vellena had added to that.

If Tōsen hadn't shown up to bust up his little party when he did, Grimmjow would have succeeded in killing that little shit of a human boy, at least. But Tōsen showed up, and the party ended. The ex-shinigami retrieved him and the night elf, putting a halt to her own fight. She was going to win, too, which would have meant that his fracción's lives would not have been spent totally _in vain_. They could have achieved _partial_ success.

The weakness of his fracción hurt. That they couldn't even manage to kill a handful of shinigami, that was embarrassing. Their loss hurt, as much as he didn't show it. They'd been together a long time, and now it was just Grimmjow. Their king; the last one standing. He'd be deprived of Shawlong's intelligence, Nakeem's servitude, Yylfordt's endless, entertaining sibling rivalry, Edrard's brute strength, and even D-Roy's idiot giggle. Gone, all of them, because they couldn't finish it quick enough, before those damn shinigami started suddenly increasing in power and overwhelmed them.

As Tōsen led them to the throne room (this couldn't be good), Grimmjow fumed silently. Vellena was expressionless, as usual. She hadn't said a word since apologizing – _apologizing_ – to her opponent for having to stop the fight, and going off with Tōsen.

They arrived in the throne room. "Grimmjow, Vellena. Welcome…home," Aizen smiled, just as though they'd just returned from a trip to the beach or something. "Vellena, I'm sure you had fun in the human world?"

"It was an interesting experience, Lord Aizen," she replied, neutrally, respectfully. Interesting experience indeed. Grimmjow almost snorted.

"I'm glad to hear it. You may return to your quarters – visit the medics first if you wish. I would like to discuss something with Grimmjow." Through the sides of his eyes, he watched the night elf bow, and leave the throne room. Did she even know where she was going? He hoped he wouldn't have to go hunting around for her later.

Vellena ended up the last thing on his mind, then, as Aizen and Tōsen began playing good asshole/bad asshole. Grimmjow's night got worse and worse, with the shitty icing on the crappy day cake coming when _Tōsen sliced off his fucking left arm and burned it_. Screaming obscenities, Grimmjow would have killed the self-righteous justice-freak, but Aizen forbade it. Their lord and master made it clear if Grimmjow avenged himself, Aizen's sufferance would be at an end. The arrancar knew his life would end then, and he wasn't ready for that. Not _here_ , not _now_ , not executed like some condemned prisoner. He wanted to die in battle; hell, even against _that kid_ would be all right with him. But not cut down without even a sword in his hand. Not that.

So Grimmjow subsided, took his licks, and did not kill Tōsen. He turned to leave, wanting to get out of there.

"I'm not done with you yet, Grimmjow." The arrancar froze at Aizen's words, turning slowly to face the lord and master that he secretly hated.

"Tell me about our guest. She alone returned to Las Noches with you. Tell me, did she fight well?"

Vellena was honestly the last thing on his mind right now. But he answered the question. "Yeah. She did. Took on some guy in a lieutenant's robes – he had a bankai though. She would have won if Tōsen hadn't shown up when he did." Aizen smiled at his response.

"It has come to my attention that you have an interest in our guest." Oh, he knew where this was going. Aizen had _found out_ somehow, Grimmjow didn't know how, that he'd been banging the chick. Maybe he'd known all along – that guy somehow knew everything that was going on in Las Noches, no matter how well hidden. And now the bastard was going to twist the knife a little; going to assign _his_ night elf to someone else, probably Nnoitra or something—the ex-captain continued, interrupting Grimmjow's train of thought. "You haven't totally lost your usefulness yet, Grimmjow. I have no objections to your extra-curricular activities. She could be useful to us. Bind her to us. Ensure her loyalty. And teach her what you can about our ways." Aizen smiled. "You'll have plenty of free time to do it in, after all."

The relief Grimmjow felt at Aizen's surprising pronouncement was ridiculous. It was followed swiftly by anger. The whip and the carrot. Aizen was always this way. Grimmjow hated it. He gritted his teeth, shifted uncomfortably, and ignored the steady drip of blood from his stump onto the cool stone floor of the throne room. Bind her to them, huh? Manipulate her emotions, more like. Make her _fall in love_ or some other such bullshit. He didn't even know if that was possible. But Aizen would exploit any openings he saw, and create them where he didn't see them; that was just how the bastard rolled. He loved to use people's natural inclinations against them. And Grimmjow was naturally inclined to his attraction for the elf. Carrot and whip; this was as much punishment as it was reward. He hated feeling used. There was a trap in here somewhere. There always was.

"You may go."

That was all, he guessed. The arrancar made a pit stop at the medics to get the wound sealed and bound, grunting noncommittally as they nattered at him, telling him the arm couldn't be healed, or maybe they just wouldn't, he didn't know and didn't care. It was gone. They healed the damage from the fight with the Kurosaki kid; he refused to let them totally heal the slash on his chest – he wanted to keep that scar as a memento. They defaced his tattoo – news travels fast in a place like Las Noches, he guessed. If he'd known they were going to do that, he wouldn't have gone to them, perhaps that's why they left it to last and got the hell out of there right after they did it.

Confirmation of his loss of rank came when he arrived at his quarters to discover his door featureless white, the black gothic six already painted over. The paint already _dry_. 'Plenty of free time', Aizen had said. No longer an Espada, no longer the Sexto – he had known his rank would change eventually, but Grimmjow had always assumed it would go _up_ , not drop away entirely. Fuck!

He entered his rooms, not bothering to turn on the lights. Not like he needed them, he saw pretty damn well in the dim moonlight from his windows. And he sat, trying not to think about his losses, or what would happen now. How long he sat there, he didn't know.

His door opened, light streaming around the figure that entered, then cutting off as the door closed. When his eyes adjusted once more to the darkness, he could see faintly glowing eyes, a tall, lithe form, the peaks of long ears… Vellena. He didn't want to see her now, but here she was. He'd have to deal with her tomorrow as it was.

"I'm not in the mood for company," Grimmjow said in a tone that invited no discussion. She did not move. She just stood there, in front of the closed door in the dark, staring at him. Not even blinking. "Didn't you hear me? Get lost!" he snapped.

He saw her ears tilt upwards as she looked down at him. He _hated_ being looked down on. Anger roiled in his belly. "Get up." She said, a cold demand.

"Fuck off." He replied. She closed the distance between them, booted feet falling with perfect silence on his floor.

"'Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez has lost his arm, lost his rank.' 'Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez is no longer an Espada.' 'Aizen sama let him live, ha ha, he should be happy he got at least that.'" She was obviously quoting others, delivering their comments in her dead voice, even the 'ha ha'. Damn, news got around. "There's some girly little shit running around with that symbol on his hip, calling himself the Sexta." That wasn't a quote, he was sure; that was Vellena's commentary. Damn, replaced already, and by that little fruit _Luppi_ by the sounds of it. Sext _a_ , hah, the little bastard. Oh gods, that was so revolting, replaced by Luppi.

"Did you end up here by mistake? I'm surprised you didn't end up in Luppi's room; I'm sure the six is already painted on his door," he snarled.

"No. I know my way here, and I followed your reiatsu." Both of those statements gave Grimmjow an inward pause, reminded him of Aizen's orders. She learned her way to his room already, and she was capable of being taught arrancar skills. Damn, he didn't want to deal with this. Not tonight.

"Get up," she repeated, a shred of anger audible in her tone. When he did nothing, she reached out, grabbing him by his collar and yanking him upwards. He didn't have much choice but to take his feet. "You are a soldier; soldiers do not wallow in self-pity when something doesn't go their way. You got demoted, so what? It happens. If you let that bother you, you're weak."

She didn't understand. It wasn't just his rank – part of his _power_ was gone. He didn't know if he could release Pantera like this. Self-pity… that was insulting. His lips curled in a snarl and his hand closed around hers, pulling her grip from his collar. Something flashed in her eyes – victory? "Shut up," he growled.

"Make me." He was aware that she was goading him, that he was rising to her bait, but he didn't care. Anger, shame, outrage, a desperate need for acknowledgment, to regain power, all balled up inside of him, mixed liberally with the lust her presence never ceased to inspire in him. She opened her mouth, no doubt to rain down more taunts on him. He snarled, releasing her hand and gripping _her_ by _her_ collar with a yank. He _shut her up_ , sealing her mouth with his.

Heat flooded him as she resisted the kiss, only to fold as he thrust his tongue past her teeth, tasting his blood, her blood. He felt a stab of frustration when he tried to bring his other hand up to draw her closer, only to realize it wasn't _there_. His frustration leaked out in the violence of his kiss, in his hand going to the back of her head, fist curling in her hair.

He wanted to hear no more words. Not tonight.


	20. Therapy

Her lips were so cool, but they still burned against his. Her hands were colder, but they set his skin on fire, sliding under his jacket. Her eyes were like ice chips, but that did nothing to slake the fires inside, the fires she ignited. Vellena had stung him, pricked at his pride, and he responded. The urge, the _need_ , to dominate, to prove he was still strong, was overwhelming.

Grimmjow hustled her into his bedroom, tossing his jacket aside. He unzipped her high-necked arrancar jacket, grinning as her breasts spilled out. No replacement bra. Good girl. She got her hands around him and loosed his sash; he rescued Pantera and set the sheathed blade down gently on the ground. Her swords joined it, laying on either size of his zanpakutō. He liked the image of her swords flanking his; like legs spread to receive him.

Her jacket, he finished removing, then got to work on her sash and hakama, sliding his hand down underneath the cloth to discover that she was naked there too. His hakama puddled at his feet and he stepped out of them, sending hers down to join them with a few quick manipulations of its ties. Fundoshi followed, freeing his already hard manhood to bob against her hips.

"I want to see you on your knees," he growled. He kept his promises, even if the circumstances weren't quite what he envisioned. This was what he needed right now. That feeling of power, of control, of knowing he was the one who called the shots. Vellena sank to the floor in front of him. The sight of her kneeling there, gazing up at him, lips slightly parted, made his cock twitch.

He didn't know if she knew what she was doing – she seemed a little ignorant (though pleasantly eager) about sexual matters – but he didn't care. She'd figure it out. He rubbed his cock against her cheek, his breath hitching at the feel of her cool, soft skin. He positioned it against her lips. Then he groaned as her lips slid over him, tongue flicking against his heated skin. She figured it out, all right.

Grimmjow watched her in the moonlight; watched how her cheeks moved and the muscles in her throat moved as she took him in. He felt her fangs – he'd seen a hint of those wicked canines of hers and forgot about them, the sudden reminder of their presence just about gave him a start. But his member passed unharmed beyond and through the cage of sharp teeth, deeper into her mouth. She sucked on him, bobbed on him. The sight of her, sound of her, _feel_ of her sent the liquid heat of his lust curling in his gut.

"You can touch me," he purred. Calm eyes raised to his in a coy expression that just about made his heart stop with desire. She reached up, feeling the blue curls of his hair, running soft fingers on his balls. He closed his eyes in bliss, enjoying this. Then she ran a finger around the rim of his hollow hole.

Involuntarily, he thrust into her mouth, a ragged breath escaping his lips and his eyes going wide, his hand yanking at her hair with a touch more force than he intended. The hollow hole was the most sensitive part of any hollow, any touch caused enormous sensation. It amplified what was felt towards who was touching. To be touched by someone he was fucking, someone he desired, that was intense enough to make him lose control. He didn't want to lose control right now.

"Don't… touch me there right now," he managed to gasp. Her eyes glittered in acknowledgement as she took him deeper. _Damn_! He realized she completely lacked any gag reflex, and apparently didn't have to breathe either as she deep-throated his not-inconsiderable length.

He _had_ to thrust now. She made no protest as he fucked her mouth, his hand guiding the back of her head. That sweet, familiar curl of pleasure was building in his innards. His balls were tightening. He groaned. One final push and he stiffened, releasing down her throat, and groaned again at the sensation caused when she swallowed. In the aftermath, he panted for breath, caressing the back of her head, looking down at her. She truly looked like a divine creature in that moment; covered in moonlight, eyes shining up at him, mouth full of his cock. A ripple of some unfamiliar emotion passed through his core for a moment, and then vanished.

He was done for the moment, but that didn't mean he was out of commission. Grimmjow smiled as he slipped from her lips, his grip going to her arm and pulling her up into a deep kiss. He could taste himself on her, smell the traces of his lust. It made him grin. He wanted to taste her. He wanted to hear her lose control again, from _him_ , from _his_ actions.

It was easy to usher her to the bed. They tumbled onto the soft surface, unable to keep hands and mouths off each other. He traced a trail down her chest and stomach with his lips, separating her thighs with a touch. At the end of the bed he bent over her, inhaling the heady scent of her. Normally she had very little scent, but when she was aroused… oh then, he could smell her. And he liked it.

"What are you—," he silenced her with a smouldering glance, still pleased with the fact that his eyes seemed to have so much effect on her.

"The only words I want to hear from you are _my_ name, and maybe some begging," he said in voice that was half growl, half purr, baring his teeth in a feral smile. His hand gripping the underside of her thigh, he leaned in to her sex and ran his tongue through her already wet folds. He felt her shudder, heard her intake of breath at his action. She tasted of lust, just as good as she smelled. He loved it.

Languidly, he tasted her, enjoying the way she twitched and moaned at the touch of his tongue. He laved slow circles over her clit, then pushed his tongue into her. Her reactions were exquisite. He could feel her building, feel his own answering arousal. Letting go of her thigh, he brought his fingers into the mix. She was gasping, hips rising of their own accord to meet his movements. His mask fragment was scraping against the inside of her legs, but she seemed to not care. He liked the feel of her skin on the mask, the pressure and smooth softness.

His tongue returned to that sensitive nub, and he slid his fingers inside her. At the automatic tightening of her passage, he raised his eyes to hers and grinned hungrily, never stopping his tongue's dance on her. Past her heaving breasts, Vellena's almond shaped eyes were glowing slits, her mouth was open, panting, showing a hint of those fangs. He turned his attention back to his 'work', relentless in his assault. He knew she was close; he could feel it in her reactions, smell it and taste it on her skin.

He withdrew his fingers, but not for long. Bending his third finger inward in the position colloquially known as 'the shocker', Grimmjow turned his secret weapon on the prostrate Death Knight. He plunged into her, aggressively working her clit with his mouth. He didn't have to wait long for the payoff; his ears rang with her loud cries as he got her off, and her nectar spilled onto his hand, into his mouth. With a hiss, he removed his hand, cleaning it with his mouth. He let her come down, settle a bit, before turning back to clean her. When he had satisfied his thirst for her taste, she was already thrumming with need again. As was he.

He slid up beside her, naked flesh sliding against naked flesh. His once-more-erect cock brushed her hip like a searing brand. "Grimmjow…" she growled out his name in a voice heavy with lust, with demand. Her half-lidded eyes burned into his, and she leaned over him. With a smooth movement, she pushed him onto his back and slid onto him, impaling herself on his length.

He'd wanted to remain in control for all of this, but simply having inspired this kind of reaction proved his mastery well enough. Besides, the view rocked. Her heavy breasts bounced enticingly as she rode him, her strong, wiry form arching. Her body was limned in moonlight; a dark, long-eared silhouette with silver edging and blue slits for eyes. His hips rose up to meet her and he gasped, feeling the ripple of her inner muscles. Again his hand went to her thigh, gripping and relaxing and gripping again.

She leaned forward, hands beside his head, hips surging. The urgency with which she ground against him brought a chuckle to his lips, between harsh panted breaths. Her breasts pushed against his chest, her chin-length hair tickled his face as she leaned in to kiss him. As he heard her moan his name, felt her quake around him, felt her rhythmic gripping and the rush of her fluids over him, he closed his eyes and let the ecstasy come with a groan. "Vellena…" His voice was low and thick as he came.

They rested for a moment, then Vellena slid off him, making to rise from his bed. His hand shot out, gripped her wrist. He felt her stiffen. _Please don't go_ … it was unthinkable to utter it. "Stay," he said, meeting her eyes in the dark, knowing full well she could see him just as well as he could see her.

With a soft sigh, the coiled-spring feeling evaporated from her and she returned to his bed. He kept his hand on her, lying beside her without speaking, trying briefly and failing to sort through the unfamiliar mix of feelings going through him on this night. She drifted off to sleep, and at last, he followed.


	21. Learning Something New

Vellena woke to the unfamiliar feeling of something pinning her down. Something warm and heavy was draped across her chest, curling against one breast. Another heavy thing was strewn across her legs. She shifted just slightly, and opened her eyes as the things pinning her down moved slightly in return, gripping her breast briefly.

Unfamiliar room. Unfamiliar bed. Familiar reiatsu beside her. She turned her head in the darkness to face whatever was holding her down and saw Grimmjow's face, slack and relaxed in sleep. Remembered the night before, his command to _stay_. She had stayed.

Asleep, his fierce beauty was still striking. He looked so young, even though she was sure he was not. His face was smooth, perfect and unscarred, the skin around his eyes marked with bright blue smudges reminiscent of an oddly-coloured jungle cat. His wild blue hair framed him appealingly. Even the jawbone didn't seem out of place, merely an odd accessory. She noted with a little amusement that he was making a faint, but definite, purring sound. That purr got suddenly louder with his exhalation, then stopped abruptly as those blue eyes cracked open.

Sleep-dilated pupils readjusted, focusing on her. There was a subtle change in his expression. ' _You stayed!'_ his eyes said. "Mornin,'" his mouth said. The hand on her chest got a little more deliberate in its groping. He yawned hugely and stretched, tendons creaking, muscles rippling. She felt an unexpected surge of attraction at the sight.

She pushed herself up to into a sit and absently ran a hand through her hair. Grimmjow sat up, brow twitching in frustration as he attempted to use the arm that was no longer there before remembering it was gone. She tried to ignore the sight of his bandaged stump, tried to suppress the wrenching feeling of _wrongness_ missing left arm invoked. It's not like she hadn't seen someone missing limbs before.

…But those had been due to war wounds that the healers hadn't got to in time, not _taken_ in some twisted form of punishment… Aizen had permitted that, maybe even _sanctioned_ that.

Think of something else.

"You hungry?" he asked as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"Not yet," she replied.

"Me neither. I ate last night. I guess you did too." He gave her a leer. It seemed the raw edge of his inner pain, his self-pity, had been dulled. There were still traces of anger, loss, sadness and shame in him, which he was attempting to disguise with a nonchalant, smug demeanor. She accepted both the front and the underlying emotions – it seemed the worst was past and he could get over it. She was suddenly glad he'd said that single word last night, stopping her from going back to her own rooms.

"Hey, is that an actual smile?" he asked her in a teasing tone.

"I guess it is," she said lightly. He offered a smug grin before standing and walking towards his door. She watched his shapely buttocks as he walked. They looked good. The scar where the symbol of his rank had been did not look as good. Her eyes dropped for a moment.

"I'm going to get a shower. Feel free to join me," he said as he reached the door, looking over his shoulder back at her.

 _That_ sounded like fun.

Sometime later they were back in his room, freshly washed and towel dried. She dressed in silence, politely ignoring him while he cursed and tried to fumble into his clothing one-handed. She was sure if she acknowledged his one-handed status, or worse, attempted to _help_ , he would be furious. And hurt. So she pretended like nothing was different. Eventually he got his clothes on and slid his sword through his sash.

"Alright, I guess it's time we got to training you," he said when he had finished.

"What?" she tilted her head at him. Had she heard right? "Training?"

"Yeah. Aizen thinks you can learn some of our abilities," he said. "I agree. I think you should at least learn sonido, and how to stay in the air. You could have used that last night, when that guy's Bankai got you."

Yeah, she could have used the ability to stand on air, last night, when that guy's… Bankai was it? When that guy's Bankai got her. Sonido, she gathered, was the fast movement technique. She'd like that, a lot. Her weakest point was her lack of range. Being able to pop around at high speed would do a lot to negate that.

"What _was_ that, by the way? Was that even his sword?" she asked.

He looked a little surprised at her lack of knowledge. "Do you know what zanpakutō are?" he asked. When she shook her head, he rattled this hilt of his sword.

"This is my zanpakutō, Pantera. It holds a portion of my power; it's part of me. It's what makes me arrancar. When I release it, I get a lot stronger. Shinigami also have zanpakutō, though theirs are different. Theirs are almost separate entities, separate but still part of them. They release the power in their zanpakutō different from arrancar – their sword gets more powerful," he explained. When she nodded for him to continue, he went on. "They have three states. The first state, the unreleased state, it's just a weapon. The second state is called Shikai. It gets some new abilities, usually changes shape," he said. She recalled when her opponent's sword had changed into a sword-whip.

"Yeah," she said. "And the last is Bankai?"

"The last is Bankai. It's usually huge," he paused, as if considering something. "Usually, anyway. Not every shinigami has a Bankai. Usually it takes them years of training, and only the most powerful, those who are captain class have it. That guy, for him to have a Bankai, means he was one of the best," he said.

That thing had been… formidable. She supposed it was lucky that they were so rare.

"You're pretty good if you could face that. As good as one of the Espada, maybe. Definitely better than números," he said. "Let's go. I want to teach you how to use sonido at least today. Keep the armour off, though. You don't need that."

She shrugged. "I need to repair it before I wear it again. It got pretty beat up when that snake grabbed me," she admitted. He made a short bark of laughter and rapped the empty air, tapping open a garganta.

"We're not walking to the training room?" she asked as she stepped into the portal.

"Not today. We're going to the dome. We need space." They walked through the passageway, finally stepping out into an expanse of sand… and blue sky?

She gazed around. Something was wrong. There was sky, there were clouds… but none of them were moving. And she couldn't see a sun. "This is an illusion," she said.

"Yeah. Looks pretty real though. Aizen had it made, don't know why. Kind of a weird thing to put in the world of eternal night. Oh well." He shrugged. "There's lots of space here." He walked forward a few yards, then turned to face her. She went to draw her swords, and he made a dismissive gesture. "No weapons today. Just sonido."

"What is this sonido?" she asked, hands leaving the hilts.

"It's how we travel fast. Shinigami have something similar, but I don't know what they call it." It was as she'd thought. He changed the subject. "You're getting good at sensing reiatsu – can you show me your reiatsu again?" he asked.

She nodded briefly, then focused. It was easier, it seemed, the more she did it. Letting it flow felt similar to the way letting the residual power of runic magic build up felt. Except she didn't need to burn runes to do it. It came from within her. And where rune energy always felt so metallic, this felt… bloody. Dark. She chalked it up to being undead, and wondered what it would have felt like if she was still a priestess of Elune.

"Good." Grimmjow said, interrupting her thoughts. She looked at him. "Pull it in around you more, close to your body."

Pull it in while she was pushing it out? Well… ok… Her brows furrowed in concentration. The energy around her fluctuated, surging out then flickering, then surging again. She tried to get it under control and it vanished entirely. She heard him sigh.

"Ok, this is going to take a while. Try again," he said, sounding like the attempt at patience was an entirely new thing for him. It probably was.

She tried again.

By the end of the day, she had started to grasp the beginnings of sonido, but it would clearly take her longer than that to get it down. Grimmjow was alternately bored, frustrated, and exaggeratedly patient, perking up with interest whenever it seemed like she might be making progress. When he finally told her to call it for the day, she was a little relieved. This was more exhausting than she had anticipated.

"Let's go back. I'm hungry," he said.

"Yeah," she agreed. He raised his hand to tape open the garganta, and she shook her head. "I want to walk. I want to learn my way around."

He gave her an odd look. "Fine, whatever. Gin keeps changing the corridors though. And it's a long walk," he said with a shrug, stuffing his hand in his pocket and starting to walk. She followed.


	22. Standing Wave

That set the tone for the days and weeks that followed. Grimmjow would take her out to the dome, where she would learn what he had to teach. Eventually she tired of seeing him always in the teaching role and tried to teach him some of her magic. His zanpakutō wasn't a runesword; though she thought she might be able to rune it if she had a runeforge; so she lent him one of her longswords to practice with. He hated the weapon, but he loved the runes. Especially the runes for blood, surprise surprise. She was rather partial to frost, herself.

She learned sonido, she learned how to break her fall using reiatsu, how to stand on the air and fight aloft. She learned bala – that was easy, and cero – that was not. The day she opened a garganta to their training spot, he had stared at her in surprise. He hadn't taught her. She wanted to see if she could do it. She didn't do it again, though. Some instinct told her to keep that ability under wraps.

She taught Grimmjow rudimentary rune magic, while he complained incessantly about the quality of her sword and Pantera's obvious superiority over it. Their days became less teaching oriented and more practice, as they sparred gleefully with each other. Their nights were spent almost universally in Grimmjow's bed, until she eventually stopped returning to her assigned room altogether.

She felt a sense of camaraderie with the former Espada that she had never felt before; not as a Knight of the Ebon Blade (who were altogether a dour lot, as she had been), and certainly not as a servant of the Lich King. As a priestess of Elune, she couldn't remember. It was unlike anything she had yet known. Her emotionless mask became less and less automatic. She laughed at his sarcastic wit. She teased. She joked.

When they were not training, sleeping, or screwing, she wandered the halls of Las Noches, learning her way around the massive complex, despite what she assumed were the mischievous Gin's best efforts to confuse her. She repaired her armour as best she could; it would take a specialist to undo some of the damage. Though she hardly ever wore it now – Grimmjow trained her exclusively in her uniform.

The power dynamic in Las Noches had clearly changed. The looks the other arrancar gave them when they were together had changed, fear and awe being replaced with contempt. The looks she received alone were still hostile, but for different reasons. It was clear that she had become firmly associated with the ex-Espada in the minds of most of the denizens of Las Noches. A few números tried her patience; that stopped after she handily defeated about three of them without even drawing her weapon. The rest took the warning and left her alone after that.

The Espada, on the other hand, were a different story. Most of them were indifferent to her, but Nnoitra and Luppi were a pain. Neither attempted to fight her, though she could tell Nnoitra wanted payback for his earlier defeat. Instead, they harassed her. In Luppi's case, it was clearly an attempt to get at Grimmjow, and she gave it all the acknowledgement it deserved, which is to say, none at all. Her refusal to be baited frustrated Luppi, which was a source of endless silent amusement for Vellena.

In Nnoitra's case, it was usually perverted comments, snide remarks about her abilities and her gender, and insinuations about her and Grimmjow. Those too, were easy to ignore.

Every now and then she would visit Szayel, inquiring politely as to his progress with returning her home. Every time, the answer was the same. He could find no way to return her home. She wasn't as upset by this as she thought she would be. Somehow, the return home did not seem so… urgent… right now.

The holding pattern that had taken shape suddenly ceased almost one month after the night in the living world. They were sparring as usual, beneath the false-day dome when one of the números interrupted them. It wasn't unheard of for there to be spectators, but usually no one actually interrupted their exercises.

"What is it, asshole?" Grimmjow demanded at the interruption. He was giving the hapless número a look which promised pain if the answer wasn't to his satisfaction. Grimmjow was never a patient man, she reflected. His status may have fallen, but he was still more powerful than this número, and the other arrancar knew it.

The número seemed to shrink a little, then straightened back up. "Meeting. Aizen's orders. Both of you," he said.

Vellena sheathed her weapons. This was new. Aizen had summoned her a few times in order to ask her questions, and had summoned Grimmjow a few times for what she presumed was the same purpose, but they had never been summoned together, and they had never been summoned to a meeting. It had always been to a private audience, where it was at most Aizen, Gin and Tōsen.

"Che." Apparently the same thought had occurred to Grimmjow. "I guess we better go find out what Aizen wants." After a month in Las Noches, Vellena had long since learned the significance of the honorifics people here habitually tacked onto the ends of names, and conversely, the significance of leaving them out when referring to someone of higher rank. Grimmjow was treating this with his usual brand of insubordination and contempt. "Where is it this time; his high chair, or the tea party?"

The other arrancar looked acutely embarrassed at Grimmjow's dismissive terminology. "Tea—uh, the conference room," he said. Grimmjow smirked.

"You are to come immediately," continued the número, apparently emboldened by the fact that he wasn't a splatter on the sand yet. Grimmjow leveled one of his usual homicidal glares at the guy.

"Yeah, we're getting there. Stuff it," he said, tapping open a garganta. He walked into the opening, not giving the número another glance. Vellena followed him silently.

The room at the end of the hallway they exited to was new to her. It was considerably smaller than the throne room. A long white table was set up, lined on either side with high-backed white chairs in which the Espada sat. At the end of the table was Aizen, flanked on either side with his ex-pat shinigami followers. She saw at once why Grimmjow called it the tea party – every individual in the room had a cup of tea in front of them. She didn't laugh; she wasn't _that_ far gone, whatever other bad influences Grimmjow might have had on her.

It was slightly unnerving the way everyone in the room was staring at them as they entered the room. She didn't show it, and neither did Grimmjow, but she felt it all the same. It was a little odd to be fully cognizant of the sheer power contained in the room – the last time she had attended such a gathering her reiatsu sense was still very underdeveloped.

Aizen was smiling at them with that benevolent look, that one she had begun to suspect a while ago was merely a front for something far more sinister. "Vellena, Grimmjow. So nice of you to join us," he said. His voice was beautiful as always, lulling the listener into a sense of trust. "I won't disturb your practice sessions long, don't worry. I just wished to inform you that you will be accompanying Luppi and Yammi to the real world tomorrow morning." He turned on that charming smile.

She could feel Grimmjow's reiatsu shift subtly at his leader's words. A sidelong glance to her companion revealed a bloodthirsty grin, and a wicked glint in his eyes. Ah, yes. The Kurosaki boy. Grimmjow had kept a single scar from that battle as a memento – having spent the last month with the arrancar, she knew the depth of his obsession, the strength of his desire for a rematch.

"Of course, Aizen-sama," Grimmjow said, and for once the honorific didn't sound mocking or false.

"That will be all," Aizen said, with a wave of his hand. Vellena bowed politely (she had manners), and Grimmjow just grinned. They turned and exited the room.

Once out of earshot, the blue-haired man let loose a roaring laugh. "I'm going to kill that shinigami kid this time," he laughed. "YES!"

Vellena kept her customary silence, suppressing the surge of eagerness she felt at the thought of some _real_ action. They had been cooped up in Las Noches for too long, and it had even started to get to _her_.

That night, Grimmjow was more aggressive than usual in bed, which suited Vellena just fine. She had discovered she much preferred rough play to gentle. They enjoyed each other thoroughly before sliding off to the dream world, awaiting the coming of morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay. A few things have happened. My computer died, and school started again (I'm a sub), and we've had a few household disasters to deal with.


	23. Jitters

"How about the polearm?" Grimmjow's voice interrupted her as she dug through her bags. He was in good spirits, she decided, clearly excited for the mayhem to come. She was already armoured up, it was just time to decide on a weapon. She wasn't sure she wanted to use the twin swords; the last time she had fought with them it had seemed like they spent more time _out_ of her hands than in them.

"I don't really like it. Its main advantage is range, and that is less of an issue since you taught me sonido," Vellena said. "It's good when facing more than one opponent, though."

"The mace?"

"Possibly. It's a real nice bone crusher." She grinned.

"What about the big red sword? I've never seen you use that." She froze. She hadn't realized that he'd seen Sanguiferrous.

"Not that one," she replied flatly.

"Why not?"

"… I'll tell you later. There could be some bad effects."

"Will you two women just shut up and get ready? I don't care what weapon the bitch uses, as long as she kills some shinigami!" a voice snapped. Grimmjow and Vellena's heads both whipped around in unison to glare at 'Magical Princess Luppi', as Grimmjow had started to refer to him when the new Sexta wasn't around.

"No one asked you, fruitcake," sneered Grimmjow.

"You better watch it, _former_ Sexto Espada," Luppi snarled back. "You're _nothing_ now."

"Still more than you'll ever be," Grimmjow retorted. Luppi stiffened, looking like he was getting ready to attack.

"Ugh, will you two shut _up_?" Yammi grumped, wheeling on his two brothers-in-arms. He drew in a deep breath, no doubt ready to add his opinion to the mix. Vellena was unsurprised by the whole exchange – she'd witnessed pre-battle bickering many times before back in Azeroth. Everyone's nerves were always wound a little tight at the prospect of a good brawl.

"Boys, boys… quiet down. Save your aggression for the real world, why don't ya?" Gin's eternally cheerful voice halted the two. "Have you decided on a weapon yet, Vellena-chan?" the silver-haired commander grinned. But then, he was always grinning.

Vellena strapped the huge mace across her back, giving Gin a quick, business-like nod before settling her helmet on her head.

"Ahh, the mace. Someone's gonna feel the pain of a lotta broken bones before they die," Gin chirped. Vellena smiled, even though she knew no one could see it behind her full face-mask. All that was visible of her face were her glowing eyes, and her pointed ears sticking out of two special slits cut for just that purpose.

"Are _you_ coming too?" Grimmjow demanded, not bothering to address Gin at all, let alone correctly.

"Naw, I'm staying here. But I brought ya Wonderweiss."

"Auuuuuuu…"

"Oh great," growled Grimmjow on seeing the vacant-eyed arrancar that made the newest addition to Aizen's ranks.

"Have fun in Karakura town, darlings!" Gin beamed, opening a garganta. "Bye bye!"

"Well what are you waiting for? Get going, you worthless waste of space!" Luppi snapped at Grimmjow when the former Sexto didn't immediately sonido into the garganta. It seemed Luppi was impatient with anything that wasn't instantaneous, or maybe he was just looking for reasons to bait Grimmjow. Vellena suspected the latter.

"Shut up, flower-girl, and get out of my way!" Grimmjow replied, stepping into the yawning maw. Vellena gave her armour one last jingling check and followed after Yammi and Wonderweiss. Gin's portal closed behind them.

Luppi, Yammi and Grimmjow continued sniping at each other the entire way through the passageway. Vellena just ran in silence, noting once more that it seemed to take a lot longer to reach the living world than to reach a destination within Hueco Mundo. Finally, a light appeared ahead of them and the garganta gaped open, revealing a brilliant, sunlit sky.

This time, she had no compunctions about stepping into thin air. Calling reiatsu to her feet to support her was as automatic as breathing.

"Oh, looks like we found a good place. They have lots of reiatsu," Yammi grinned, noting the stunned shinigami below them.

" _These_ are the reinforcements that Mister Six was talking about?" Luppi sneered. "Oh, I'm sorry, _former Mister Six_ , isn't it?"

"The bastard I want to kill isn't in that group," snarled Grimmjow, tearing away with his fastest sonido. Yammi called after him to wait, and Luppi cut him off with another verbal dig at Grimmjow's abilities. Vellena shifted, observing the shinigami and momentarily tuning out her companions. Let Grimmjow have his fight; there was more than enough here for all of them.

A sudden movement from below had her reacting just in time. An icy sword shuddered against the haft of her mace as she raised it to block, sonidoing in front of the distracted Yammi. She was slightly surprised that her opponent seemed no more than a boy – strikingly coloured and wearing a slightly different uniform from the other shinigami.

"Hitsugaya Tōshirō, Captain of the 10th," the boy said. His voice was lower than she expected, and dead serious. Captain, huh? That meant Bankai.

"Vellena Nightwind, Death Knight of the Ebon Blade," she replied in the same tone, ignoring Yammi's protest that he wanted to fight. She'd seen the boy first, dammit. He was _her_ opponent now. There were plenty of shinigami here to choose from.

"You're the one Renji fought. He was right. You aren't an arrancar," the boy narrowed his vivid turquoise eyes.

"You have other things to think about," warned Vellena, shifting her mace. A rune winked out instantly, glow dimming to nearly nothing as she called upon its power to send a freezing rebuke at the boy. He stared at her for a moment, brushing a little hoar-frost from his cheek.

"Ice? You clearly do not know your opponent," he said, and then he attacked.

With sonido, avoiding the sweeping strike was child's play. She reappeared a short distance to the side.

"I see. Shunpo will not help you," he vanished. Shunpo – it must be what the shinigami called their version of sonido. Theirs was quieter, she reflected, as she once again raised her mace to block. This time, she noticed the ice on his blade, and realized why he had made the comment about not knowing her opponent – he was clearly an ice user. Frost was out. What a pity. Oh well, she still had any number of painful tricks up her sleeve.

She pushed against his blade suddenly with the long metal handle of the mace. When he returned with automatic pressure back, she sidestepped, letting his weapon slide down the handle of hers. He took two automatic steps forward at the sudden lack of resistance and she grabbed his blade with one hand and swung her mace down at him with the other.

He caught on to the attack before it landed, unfortunately. He was quick. Unfortunately for him, he didn't get entirely out of the way. Her mace came down on the left arm he raised to block, and she heard the meaty thump and his grunt of pain. No cracking of bones, but that had to sting a bit. He vanished, showing up a short distance away. His left arm hung loosely at his side, obviously damaged, even though she saw no blood. The point of a mace was not to draw blood, the point of a mace was to fucking crush things.

" _Sit upon the frozen heavens, Hyōrinmaru!_ " the boy shouted.

_That would be the shikai_ , thought Vellena. Flashing towards her far quicker than she would have thought possible was what appeared to be a wingless dragon made of ice. With a buzzing sound, she used sonido to split right before it hit. It followed, looping around as if guessing where she would jump. But she was a little more ready this time, and she swung her mace right at the icy face.

Ice shattered and shards went spraying in all directions. The shockwave of the impact travelled part of the way down the 'neck' of the thing, continuing to shatter as it went. She saw the white haired shinigami flinch, as though she'd slapped him. Then he flicked his wrist and the coiling ribbon of ice reformed, the head returning with a roar. _This might be problematic_ , she thought.


	24. Early Winter

The dragon's length was coiled protectively around the boy's body. Getting past those loops would be a pain in the ass. Cold couldn't harm her much, but that said nothing about impact, which could. Her best bet would be to try to disrupt as much as she could, and get a strike in before he reformed the dragon.

As the head of the sword curled around after her, she buzzed forward, looping around him. She raised her left hand, targeting not the shinigami but his coiling defense. It was moving counter-clockwise, which meant she would intersect on his left guard, which was already wounded.

With a shout, she fired three bala with devastating precision, silently thankful for Grimmjow's insistence on learning how to target moving objects accurately with the attack. The compressed reiatsu bullets hit the spiral of ice in a vertical line, shattering it. Her crushing overhand blow was a smooth continuation of her trajectory; straight through the gap she had blasted. The shinigami was about to feel a lot of pain.

" _BANKAI!_ "

So much for that thought. Her mace smashed into something with a resounding crack, but it wasn't the boy. It was a wall of ice. Still, the force of her strike was enough to penetrate through to the captain within. She felt it brush to a stop gently against a moving target. No damage, but… she activated an unholy rune, grinning as she unleashed her disease. She didn't have to break skin to inflict it.

Then the massive wall of ice moved unexpectedly, with unanticipated force, and in a trajectory she wasn't expecting. Her mace, caught in the hole of its own making, was wrenched from her grip as she was knocked end over end. The wall of ice revealed itself as a massive wing, one of a pair, unfurling. The boy within stood with sword still in hand, extremities encased in claws of ice. Her weapon was trapped within the massive wings still, the hole closing around it as fast as lightning. She didn't think he'd let her have it back.

She had to stop in her groping for another weapon to attempt to dodge the insanely fast sheet of ice that exploded towards her as the shinigami captain gave a flick of his wrist. Cold washed over her, and she felt her momentum cease. Seconds ticked by, then her prison of ice suddenly shattered.

Was that supposed to hurt her? She faced the boy with a laugh. "What was it you said about not knowing your enemy, boy?" she called across the distance separating them. The epithet seemed to infuriate him. He flew forward at her, sword raised.

A target approaching head on is far easier to hit than one taking a diagonal trajectory. She raised her empty hands.

"Cero!" She unleashed not only her reiatsu, but the runic energy she had already built up, standing with feet braced against the sky and hands together, straight out in front of her. Her cape flapped in a phantom wind as the red-black light flared from her palms, and with a tearing sound, blasted straight at the shinigami. It blared out, flaring in a beam which intersected itself in a hyperbolic point before flashing out of existence. Residual heat and billowing clouds of steam distorted the air for a moment. When the air cleared, she saw nothing.

Oh yeah, it was totally worth learning _that_ ability.

A woman's shrill screaming curse echoed out as the cero hit. She glanced briefly to its source, only to find that Luppi had the voice's owner well in hand. Well, erm… tentacle. At the sight of the boy being hit by the cero, the woman began struggling violently.

Her opponent fallen or obliterated, she decided to retrieve her weapon first. Really, she had the most terrible luck keeping her weapons in her hands! She walked in the air over the brush directly below where the boy had flown, senses alert for signs of the mace.

She found the unexpected. The boy. Alive. His hair was singed, and he was looking a little charred, and he seemed to be shaking and feverish, but he was alive, and he still had his ice wings. Spotting her, he pulled his arms inward, angling the tip of his blade high.

"Sennen Hyōrō!" Huge pillars of ice rose up around her on all sides. Before she could react, he twisted his blade.

As the massive pillars came crushing in on her, encasing her once more in solid ice, she felt grudging respect for the canny boy. He'd clearly planned this attack, counting on her to either go investigate his fall or attempt to retrieve her weapon. The cold was nothing – she could freeze the very blood of her veins in order to increase her endurance. The crushing pressure was another matter.

As the prison of ice shattered, she allowed herself to fall into the brush. The boy took off for the sky, eager to save his comrades from the wrath of Tentacle Monster Luppi.

After a few seconds, she moved gingerly, taking stock of the damage. Her range of motion was severely limited – the armour had taken the brunt of the attack, deforming around her body and restraining her. A peculiar wheezing noise when she took a slow breath told her she'd suffered a punctured lung, probably from a broken rib. Or more than one. Fortunately she could go a while without really having to breathe. One of her legs was broken in at least two places; and she didn't think that was the only break she'd suffered. She pulled her helmet off – it was more of a danger than a protection right now, and stuffed it into one of her bags. The rest would have to wait until she got back to Las Noches. Hopefully she wouldn't need to borrow Szayel's arc cutter to get out of her armour.

Her arms were fine, though. Using reiatsu to help get herself to her feet, she reached into her pack. This was going to be a trip to the medics, no doubt, but it wasn't over yet. Her hands closed on Sanguiferrous's hilt. Yes, perhaps it was time…

Red rose in her vision as the sword's bloodlust filled her. She felt the sword's annoyance at the fact that she'd let herself become so injured. Yes, it was long past time for Sanguiferrous. This had to be decisive, this had to be quick. The longer she used it, the harder it would be to put the sword away when she had to.

The battlefield had changed; there were more players. Luppi had four shinigami engaged, including Icy. Wonderweiss and Yammi were dealing with Hat-and-Sandals. Off in the distance, she could feel the explosive power of Grimmjow and the Kurosaki kid… and a third presence she did not recognize.

It was time to reclaim her opponent from Luppi.

Vellena rose through the air, leaning on her Runeblade's hilt, marshalling her strength. Above her, she saw the icy captain of the tenth division slice through one of Luppi's tentacles, freeing the busty woman who had screamed for his safety. No one had noticed her. She raised her sword.

"I am not finished with you yet, Captain Hitsugaya," she said, forcing the words out unbroken. With a look of surprise stamped across his face, he turned towards her. Time seemed to slow – Sanguiferrous speeding her reactions. The blade wanted blood. With startling clarity, she saw the effects of her disease still gripping him, though he stoically attempted to suppress the fever raging through his body.

She smiled. And then, she struck. She wouldn't attack someone whose back was towards her, but he was aware of her presence. She did not hold back.

Hitsugaya never had a chance; with Sanguiferrous enhancing her speed, she hit him before he had fully realized she had moved, and kept on going. The long edge of her blade, glowing red with power, cut him from hip to shoulder. Blood sprayed, but did not fall to the ground. Instead, her blade consumed it as it arced through the air, transferring his health to her.

Her leg set, some of her wounds healed, as Sanguiferrous stole his blood and consumed the disease. It was not total regeneration. Her mobility was still reduced, and from the feel of it, her lung was still punctured.

" _Captain!_ " The red-haired woman screamed. The boy sagged, clutching at his chest. Then he did something Vellena hadn't thought he was capable of. He turned to face her yet again. The cut she had delivered was vicious, and he would probably die from it if he didn't receive medical attention soon.

Shakily, he raised his sword, wings moving.

"Stand down, shinigami," Vellena growled, leaning on Sanguiferrous. "If you stop now, you will live. If you keep turning to me, you will die."

"I… cannot… fall… to… you…" he panted.

"Very well." She raised Sanguiferrous again. It would end here, now.

It did.

A golden light suddenly encased her, immobilizing her. Hitsugaya's eyes went wide, and she saw him mouth _negación_ , heard his surprised whisper. Out of the sides of her eyes, she saw Luppi (who had somehow managed to lose his grip on his three shinigami), Yammi, and Wonderweiss encased in similar tubes of light.

"Mission accomplished?" Yammi grumped as they rose into the sky. Luppi was screaming threats. Wonderweiss was… apparently oblivious. The shinigami were staring at them with expressions almost as stunned as when the arrancar and the Death Knight had stepped through the garganta.

"My apologies, Captain Hitsugaya. It seems our fight is now over," Vellena said, fighting for enough breathe to speak. With enormous effort, she forced Sanguiferrous back into her bags. The sword did not want to go. But she wasn't so far into its thrall that she couldn't put it down.

Her erstwhile opponent's icy wings suddenly vanished, and he pitched forward. The red-headed woman caught him. Somehow, Vellena thought the boy might just live. Somehow, she kind of hoped so. He had fought valiantly.


	25. Sometimes She Doesn't, Either

"Hey, what's the matter?" Grimmjow demanded as the war party walked across the silvery road of their reiatsu, making their way through the garganta. No one was running this time; there was no need. The mission was accomplished. They weren't in a hurry to get back to boring old Las Noches.

"I'm fine," gasped Vellena in reply. It was hard to move too quickly, especially now that she was no longer fighting and no longer had the battle to keep driving her forward. She'd be good for _hours_ yet, – a Death Knight could fight till he or she dropped dead – but her effectiveness would be reduced. The worst part of it wasn't the damage, however, it was the fact that her armour felt about three sizes too small, and the articulated joints weren't so articulate anymore.

"What the hell happened to _you_?" Grimmjow wouldn't let it drop. It was a funny sort of demand, coming from a guy who looked to be just as busted up.

"She got her ass kicked, is what happened to her," sniped Luppi. _He_ should talk. She'd seen him lose a few tentacles, and he had cuts. In fact, the only ones among the group who were unharmed were Wonderweiss and Ulquiorra. What Ulquiorra was doing there, she didn't know.

"I don't know about that, Luppi. I'm pretty sure she was about to kill that captain kid," Yammi stepped in. _Yammi_? "You didn't see it, 'cuz your back was to her, but she cut him up pretty good. If he lives through the night it'll be a surprise." He made a noise that sounded like a cross between a sigh and a frustrated snarl. "I wanted to kill Sandals, dammit! Ulquiorra!" he whined.

"The mission was accomplished. There was no need to remain. If this group had remained, we would have suffered losses," Ulquiorra stated. He didn't have to name the loss. Grimmjow grunted.

"I was doing _fine_ —!" the blue-haired arrancar protested.

"You were outmatched and outnumbered," Ulquiorra said flatly. Grimmjow growled. Ulquiorra ignored it. Vellena could _feel_ the former Espada's resentment from where she was. But he stayed silent after that. At least for a few minutes.

"So what the hell happened?" Vellena rolled her eyes. He just wasn't going to give up.

"He used some kind of crushing attack," she had to struggle to pull in enough air to speak. "My armour is ruined, I think. I'm going to need help getting out of it."

"Oh, I'll help with that, don't worry," his tone was lecherous. She shot him an annoyed look. He was grinning smugly.

"I'm _suuuure_ you will," drawled Luppi, "although I'm sure she'd prefer a _real_ man."

"What, have you got a real man around you haven't been telling us about, Luppi?" Grimmjow retorted.

"Would you two shut up? You're annoying as fucking _hell_!" Yammi shouted.

"Remember who you are, _Décimo_ —" Luppi began.

"Be silent, _Sexta,_ " Ulquiorra said. "You are all trash."

So even Ulquiorra's patience had a limit. That was… good to know. It was kind of funny to witness him shooting down Luppi when the insufferable little Espada attempted to pull rank. Even if he did insult them _all_ in the process.

"Che," said Grimmjow. They walked in silence for a little while longer. Then, "hey, Vellena, where did your mace go?"

"In a bush somewhere, in the real world," she said, feeling a little stupid. What would people think, with her constantly losing her weapons in fights? Was it some sort of conspiracy to make her look incompetent?

Whatever reply he was going to make (no doubt some double entendre about maces in bushes) was cut off by Ulquiorra.

"We have arrived. You are to stand down for the next twelve hours – you may seek any medical attention you require. Then, you are to meet in the throne room. Aizen-sama wishes to make an announcement."

They stepped into the halls of Las Noches.

Once again, he had failed to kill the kid. Once again, he had been interrupted in his battle. This was getting to be an annoying habit. Grimmjow pushed the door to his room open, letting in him and Vellena both.

"C'mon let's get you out of that armour." Vellena nodded at his suggestion, pulling off her gauntlets and fumbling with the catches on her bracers and pauldrons. Grimmjow glanced over her; it really did look like she'd been… _squished_. He didn't think she was exaggerating when she said the armor was ruined.

He helped her with the cuirass, which was a tough task, even with three hands working on it. The fasteners had deformed, and had to be forced open. She wheezed oddly during the exertions. When the piece finally came off, he saw why. _Wow, that's a lot of bruising. What's wrong with her ribs? Oh._

"How long have you been hiding that?" he asked, pointing at the broken rib protruding under her skin. It wasn't the only one – some of those ribs were bent at a bad angle, maybe even piercing her lung.

"I'll be fine, I just need a medic."

"Damn right you need a medic," he retorted. "I'm taking you, _now_."

"Get the rest of the armour off, first." She sounded tired. "It's not easy to move in it right now."

"I don't think—"

"Just do it," she interrupted. Alright, be that way. He helped her remove her faulds, and had to remove her sabatons on his own. She couldn't bend over.

"See, this is why armour is a bad idea. You're too injured to even get it off."

"I'll note," she wheezed, "that it bore the brunt of the crush. Without it, I would have broken _every_ bone."

Well, maybe she had a point.

"Alright, your armor is off. Medic. Now," he ordered. She didn't protest as he helped her walk.

The arrancar medics on duty saw to their wounds quickly and silently. Fortunately for Vellena, they were able to set her ribs and heal her lung with their techniques. Grimmjow had his wounds taken care of at the same time by a young-looking female arrancar who flinched every time he looked her way. He ignored her for the most part, watching as the small team of medics treated Vellena.

"Next time, don't let yourself get beat up like that. Which one did you fight anyway?"

"Hitsugaya Tōshirō, Captain of the 10th."

Even Grimmjow had heard of that one – that was the boy prodigy, the one who had attained Bankai younger than anyone else in the history of Seireitei. He was known to be very powerful, with the strongest ice-type zanpakutō known. And she'd almost killed him? Grimmjow smiled.

"Lucky," he said.

"Did you kill Kurosaki?"

"No, damnit. Ulquiorra intervened." He was still sore about that. He didn't care what Ulquiorra thought – he could have taken on Kurosaki _and_ crazy-mask-guy both.

"We never seem to have any luck, do we, Grimmjow," she remarked wryly. He gave an ironic snort. Twice now, they had both been denied a kill, and by their own allies to boot. No, neither of them seemed to have any luck.


	26. Welcome Back Jaegerjaquez

Once more, they gathered in the large hall. Vellena rather thought there were more people present than was strictly necessary for a debriefing. She concluded there was more to it than that.

Her suspicions were confirmed when Ulquiorra arrived, leading the orange-haired girl, the healer he had shown them all. Vellena felt a touch of puzzlement. _This_ was why they went to the real world? A mere distraction so that this little slip of a girl could be brought here? They had healers already. What was one more?

Aizen was sitting in his throne, smiling benevolently down. As the girl approach, he spoke. "Welcome to our fortress of Las Noches, Inoue Orihime. You are Orihime, correct?"

"Yes…" the girl's voice was tiny. She was clearly terrified. As well she might be, surrounded by powerful enemies, in another world entirely.

"Sorry to be so forward, Orihime, but would you show us your power?" Aizen smiled. The room was filled with his reiatsu. Vellena was surprised the girl remained standing. The Death Knight even felt a frisson of trepidation at the sheer power radiating from the leader of the arrancar.

The girl agreed, and Vellena froze as she was ordered to heal Grimmjow's arm. Luppi predictably blew up, throwing a fit. His unhappiness with having been used as nothing more than a distraction was understandable, she felt, but upon witnessing the miraculous regeneration of Grimmjow's arm, she realized why Aizen wanted this girl.

That was more than simply healing. That was something else entirely.

Luppi was screaming threats at her, trying to intimidate her into stopping her regeneration of Grimmjow's arm. Grimmjow's gaze was fixed on the girl intently. He did not even blink until his arm was once more whole. Luppi went dead silent. Grimmjow raised his hand, looking at his once more whole arm, speechless.

Luppi began to sputter, demanding an explanation. Which Aizen gave them. As he explained the true nature of the girl's power, Vellena realized how much more than simple healing this was. A power like that… a power like that could unmake Arthas. She drew in a shaky breathe.

"Hey girl," Grimmjow said casually, "fix up one more spot." He gestured to the scar on his back. The red-head obediently turned to his injury, her strange, event-erasing shield flashing into existence. Through the orange shield, Vellena could make out Grimmjow's symbol of rank reforming, the skin unharmed and whole.

She had a very good idea of what was coming next. For once, she did not stifle her bloodthirsty smile. Out of the corner of her eyes, she observed Aizen. No reaction. She _knew_ the ex-shinigami knew what was coming, and she had the notion that… he approved.

Luppi apparently had an inkling of what was to come. "What are you _doing,_ Grimmjow?" The effeminate Espada's voice was low and dangerous, but Vellena could hear the fear he was trying to hide.

"Yeah?" The look on Grimmjow's face was the most bloodthirsty she'd ever seen on him. His intense blue eyes practically glowed. The girl took a few frightened steps back as Grimmjow turned to Luppi.

The blue-haired arrancar struck with all the speed and power she knew he was capable off. Luppi didn't have a chance. Before anyone could blink, Grimmjow's left hand… his restored hand… was through Luppi's chest and out through the back of his uniform. Blood sprayed. The current Sexta sputtered, eyes wide in shock and fear. He attempted to spit out an insult.

"That's how it goes," Grimmjow mocked. "Seeya, _former_ Mister Sexta!" The angry sound of a cero echoed through the throne room. When the smoke cleared, all that remained of Luppi was his lower half.

Grimmjow had regained his Espada rank, and it didn't really look like anyone was going to protest. Not even Tōsen. As Grimmjow screamed his triumph, laughing like a maniac, Vellena cast her gaze up to Aizen once more. He met her eyes and smiled, a slight, knowing smile. She dropped her gaze, turning it instead to the terrified girl, who stared at Grimmjow as though afraid he might do to her what he'd just done to Luppi.

"Don't be afraid." The girl had back-stepped fairly close to Vellena. At the night-elf's quiet words, she turned huge, fearful grey eyes up at her.

"Ehhh…?" said the girl. Vellena tilted her head down at the girl.

"He won't hurt you, not after what you did for him. Grimmjow is a lot of things, but he has a sense of honor," she said. It was true. It was one of the things that consistently strengthened her respect for him; he might be rude, violent and pushy, but he had honor.

The girl turned back to watch Grimmjow, still fearful but somewhat less tense than before Vellena spoke. The Death Knight nodded to herself, and turned away from the room, silent and stately, making her way back to Grimmjow's room.

A tingle of reiatsu around a corner halted her progress on the way to the room. She stopped in the hall, waiting silently for the other to show themselves. A lanky figure came from around the corner, smiling venomously, huge axe slung over spindly shoulders. Nnoitra.

"Where are you going?" the Quinto asked. His voice was filled with false friendliness.

"Back to my quarters," she replied. She wasn't in the mood for Nnoitra's games. She hoped he would get to his point and let her go on her way.

" _Your_ quarters? Or _Grimmjow's?_ " Nnoitra's grin widened.

Vellena didn't dignify his question with an answer. To her, it was a non-issue. She and Grimmjow had been sharing the rooms for nearly a month. Both of them preferred it that way.

"Did you think," Nnoitra began, in a mocking tone, "that his regaining his rank would save you?" His grip shifted on his enormous axe.

Vellena suddenly understood what this was about. As a fallen Espada, Grimmjow was beneath notice. A rivalry was only worth it when there was something to lose, and something to gain. While a número, Grimmjow was no challenge, no contest. He had his power back, though, so their rivalry was once more an issue. _She_ was merely a game piece to Nnoitra, perhaps one that he personally disliked, but far more useful as a means to antagonize Grimmjow. If he could antagonize her, or harm her in the process, well… so much the better, in Nnoitra's mind. In this, he was as transparent as a pane of glass.

"I have never needed saving," she stated.

"I disagree." Noitra bared his teeth. She could see the tension in his knuckles as they tightened on the haft of his weapon. "I think you need saving. _Very badly_." He vanished.

As she whirled, parrying aside his weapon with her swords, she reflected that it was fortunate that she had expected this the moment she realized it was Nnoitra who was around the corner. Otherwise, this might have been a surprise. And then she might very well have needed help.

"You're faster than before. But that is not going to be enough," Nnoitra hissed, leered at her.

"Nnoitra. You prove nothing," she stated calmly, dead gaze expressionless. "This is pointless."

"Oh, I don't think so, bitch. I don't think so at all. I'm going to _enjoy_ violating your defeated body. If you ask nicely, I might even kill you first." He pressed down on his axe just a little harder. There was the grinding sound of blades sliding against blades.

Oh yeah, Nnoitra was out for blood tonight. Of all the time for her to be without her armour… but then again, maybe that had factored into his decision to pick _now_ as the appropriate time to test her patience.

"You'll have to _win_ first, fool," she retorted, the edge of her weapons icing. Nnoitra's teeth caught the light, a mad light in his eye. It was time to play.

Unarmoured and still recovering from the last fight, Vellena knew she would have to be decisive. She couldn't afford to hold back. Nnoitra wouldn't, she was certain. Her blades alone would have no effect on him. No need to hoard runes.

They moved at the same time. He pulled back, readying another strike, and she took advantage of his momentary withdrawal by pushing her fists into his chest, swords still crossed. The move was not calculated to wound him, but to ensure that he developed frost fever from the icy touch of her knuckles. As he swung back down at her, she used sonido to retreat.

She had to duck instantly, narrowly avoiding the vicious blade of his axe as it flew straight past where her neck had been. She noted that he had flung it out, holding on to the long chain at the end. Then she used sonido again to launch herself at him while his blade was at its apex, before he yanked that chain back.

She felt the resistance of her blade meeting flesh, and knew that she'd hit. Again, she tried for the disease, knowing that the wound would be superficial. And then she felt the impact against her left shoulder blade. She continued to sonido past him, breath knocked from her. Facing him again, she noted something thick and black blocking the shine of one of the crescent hooks that curved back towards the haft. Her blood. He carried a red gash in his side.

"Stupid bitch. These illnesses of yours are just an annoyance," he snapped. "You can't stop me with a fever and a headache."

"They're a means to an end, nothing more," she stated, before flying towards him yet again. This time she anticipated the launch of his blade – she was counting on it actually. She jumped, using the blade as a springboard, and flew over Nnoitra's head, twisting in midair. Red light flashed momentarily as she forced the diseases in his blood to suddenly erupt, boiling painfully. Blood spurted from his mouth and from the cut she'd given him. She heard him curse.

She landed on her feet, not waiting for his axe to return before she attacked again. With a ripping sound, she appeared right next to him, grabbing his collar and pulling his head towards her viciously. Her left hand came up full of the howling fury of the gales of Storm Peaks, blasting right in his face.

Quick and decisive. It was the only viable choice. His axe clanged to the ground. Nnoitra was silent for once; but then again, he didn't have a choice. He was frozen pretty hard. She could still feel his reiatsu, enough to know he was still alive. But he wasn't going anywhere for a few minutes.

A fast death coil on herself healed the damage he'd done to her back instantly. She turned to him. "Do not test my patience again. I will not warn you twice," she said, then walked away. She could feel his reiatsu spike in anger, but she paid it no mind. The rest of her journey back to the quarters she shared with Grimmjow was uneventful.


	27. Learn Something New, Redux

Vellena wandered the halls aimlessly. Grimmjow had been called to an Espada meeting, and she had nothing to do. So she did what she usually did in her spare time – she tried to get to know her way around.

Grimmjow had been wilder than usual last night, exultant at the return of his arm and his rank. He'd introduced her to something he called 'kinbaku', and she had spent most of the night tied up and screaming in pleasure. It took two hands to tie rope properly. She smiled, remembering it. That had been a lot of fun. She had to admit, she enjoyed Grimmjow's dominance of her body. He seemed to enjoy it just as much as she did.

So lost in thought was she, that she almost didn't hear the sob. When the noise finally registered, she stopped dead in her tracks. A sob? She'd never met an arrancar that cried. Screamed, cursed, howled, and pitched fits, yes, but not cry. She extended her reiatsu senses, trying to locate the source.

_Of course!_ The human girl. She felt the reiatsu nearby, in a room. Finding the door, she opened it. The girl was on her knees in front of a plain white couch, her face in her hands, her elbows on the couch pillows. She was wearing an arrancar uniform, her hair unbound except for the two hairclips that contained her amazing power.

At the sound of the door, the girl spoke without turning, giving a mighty sniff. "I'm wearing the clothes, Ulquiorra! Leave me alone!" she said.

"I am not Ulquiorra," Vellena said. The girl turned, tears in her wide grey eyes. The night elf could see a tremor of fear run through the girl.

"Are you here to make me heal someone too? You aren't going to hurt me are you?" the red-head quavered.

"No. I am not here to hurt you and I do not need healing. I heard you crying, and I came to see why," Vellena's voice was quiet, gentle. Nevertheless, she could tell that the grating sound of it still scared the girl.

"I… I miss my friends. What if they think I'm a traitor? What if I never see them again?" Inoue's (she thought that was the girl's name) voice cracked on the last words, tears flowing once more. Vellena could think of no acceptable answer. The girl's friends were ostensibly her enemies, after all. She said nothing.

"Are you… are you the one who fought with Renji?" Inoue asked.

Vellena nodded. Renji, that was the red-haired shinigami who was so impulsive. Yes, she'd fought him.

"I healed him," she sniffled. "I hope you're not mad."

"I'm not mad," said Vellena.

"Um… I don't know your name," Inoue said, sitting on the couch, facing the Death Knight.

"Vellena Nightwind."

"Ah, that's a pretty name, Vellena-chan!" Inoue smiled. _This child is a strange one_ , thought the night elf. _Such changeable moods_.

"Thank you," replied Vellena. What other reply was there to that?

"Vellena-chan, why are you in Las Noches? Did Aizen kidnap you too? You don't look like the others – your ears are too long and your skin is purple. And you haven't got a bone on your face. Are you purple all over?"

"I came here by accident, from another world. Aizen is supposed to be helping me return to my own world." Not that there had been much progress in that direction, she reflected. "I'm not arrancar – I'm a night elf. And yes, I am purple all over," she smiled.

"Are you friends with Grimmjow? He seems so scary."

Was she friends with Grimmjow? Well, one could put it that way. "I am friends with Grimmjow. He's not bad when you get to know him. Thank you for healing his arm," Vellena said.

"I had to," Inoue protested with a sniffle. Vellena sat next to the girl on the couch. The girl looked up at her, then looked at her own feet.

"It doesn't discount the fact that you did it anyway. It was taken from him unjustly." In saying that, Vellena felt as though she'd crossed a bridge. She'd finally admitted what she hadn't wanted to – that Aizen had permitted, and probably tacitly approved of the mutilation of Grimmjow, and that it was unjust. That Aizen was unjust. She sighed.

They were silent for a moment. Then Inoue spoke up again, "Vellena-chan, do you love Grimmjow?"

Shock flowed through the night elf. She was silent for a long moment. Did she love Grimmjow? What kind of question was that? Was such a thing even possible? She was peripherally aware that the girl was staring at her, looking upset.

"S-s-s-sorry, Vellena-chan! I didn't mean to ask such a personal question—" Inoue stuttered.

"It's alright," interrupted Vellena.

Inoue continued. "It's just that, if someone can love someone like Grimmjow, then maybe he can love someone too, and maybe he's not all bad!" she blurted. "He's so scary!"

"It's alright," Vellena said again. She thought about it for a moment, then she answered. "I don't know if I love Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. I am not sure something such as me can fall in love, or if he can either. But I … like him very much." And she did, she realized. She'd grown… attached. Wasn't this a strange development?

"His eyes are so scary. Ulquiorra's eyes are so cold, but Grimmjow's eyes are so… _hot,_ " babbled Inoue.

_Yes_ , Vellena thought, _Grimmjow's eyes are indeed_ hot. But she had something of a different appreciation for those eyes than this frightened child did.

"Do you have someone you love?" Vellena asked. Inoue nodded.

"Kurosaki-kun," she replied. No wonder the girl was afraid of Grimmjow. She'd probably only ever seen the arrancar when he was attempting to kill her beloved.

The night elf thought about what the human girl had said. _If someone could love Grimmjow, then maybe he could love someone_. She supposed the corollary was true – if someone could love Kurosaki, maybe he could love someone. She knew there was more to shinigami than she had been told. She remembered watching Kurosaki through Ulquiorra's eyes, fighting desperately to save the lives of this very girl, and the large human friend.

"Inoue-chan, would you tell me why Aizen and Soul Society are at war?" she asked. Suddenly, she had to know.

"You mean you don't know?" Inoue turned wide eyes at her. "But you've been fighting on their side, how can you not know?"

"Tell me," Vellena gently insisted.

And the girl did. Vellena listened intently to the story – the scheduled execution of Rukia; the desperate attempt of Kurosaki and his human friends to rescue her; the battle on the top of the Sōkyoku hill; the dramatic rescue of Rukia, only to then discover that Aizen had betrayed Soul Society and used Rukia as a vessel for the Hōgyoku. She learned Aizen's plans, to become a god.

As the story came out, Vellena realized that she was indeed on the wrong side of the fight, after all. Aizen was not fighting against tyranny – Aizen was the tyrant. Aizen was an Arthas in the making. The possibility that the girl might be lying was considered and dismissed – this girl had no guile. Too many little pieces corroborated her story, too many little things that Vellena had noticed in her slightly-more-than-a-month in Las Noches.

"I see," she said when Inoue had finished her tale. "Thank you for telling me this, Inoue-chan." She smiled at the girl, showing nothing of her inner disquiet.

A ripple of familiar reiatsu approaching caught her attention. She looked up. "Ulquiorra returns. I must go," she said.

"Vellena-chan…" Inoue began as the night elf rose from the couch. Vellena looked at the girl expectantly. Inoue smiled. "Thank you for coming to talk to me, Vellena-chan. I feel better." A small, pale hand took hers for just a moment. Vellena smiled back.

"Ande'thoras-ethil, little one. May your troubles be diminished." She tapped open the garganta. "Do not speak of my visit to Ulquiorra." The wide-eyed girl shook her head solemnly. Vellena disappeared through the portal.

As she walked across the silver path, she reflected once more on the similarities of garganta and the death gate. She had begun to suspect that Aizen would never return her to her own world – indeed, it seemed likely that he had never even tried to find a way. Szayel's work was most likely nothing more than a ruse. Perhaps… perhaps there was another way…


	28. Impatience

Grimmjow merely cocked a brow when the garganta opened in his room and spat out Vellena. He'd wondered where she'd gotten to. Upon spotting him, her long ears twitched. A flash of inner disquiet passed through her features – it would have been unnoticeable to anyone else, but Grimmjow had spent a hell of a lot of time with this woman over the last month. It vanished almost as fast as it had appeared, and he almost thought he imagined it.

"You're back," Vellena said mildly, sliding gracefully into the armchair across from where he sprawled on the couch. "How was the meeting?"

"Che." Grimmjow frowned, trying to banish the memory of Aizen forcing him to his knees with that terrible reiatsu. That bastard always had to hold him down. He wanted that kid's blood, that kid's death at _his_ hands – that would be good for Aizen, wouldn't it? So why was he forced to sit _here_ while the damn kid ran amuck?

"Not well, I take it?" Vellena asked, interrupting his angry train of thoughts.

"Kurosaki and his pals have invaded Hueco Mundo," Grimmjow said. At Vellena's raised eyebrow, he continued. "We've been ordered not to attack him."

"Ah." That breathed syllable carried a tone of sympathetic understanding. Vellena knew how badly he wanted to kill the kid. "So what now?"

"Now we fucking wait around until he gets here. When that happens, I'm gonna hang him with his own guts."

"When will they arrive?"

"No clue. They're really far away. Might be a day or two. _Fuck,_ " he grumbled, feeling frustrated. "So where were _you_?" he changed the subject.

"Wandering the halls. This place is huge. A month, and I still don't know it," she replied easily. Again, he thought he caught that little flash.

"Yeah there's parts I haven't even been to," he agreed. "Gods, I hate waiting," he fumed.

"We could go spar…" Vellena suggested.

"No." He wasn't in the mood for that. He didn't want some bloodless bout that ended with no casualties; he wanted to _kill_. And as bloodthirsty as he was, he didn't want to kill Vellena. That would be upsetting, more upsetting than his fraccións dying; he realized with a slight flash of concern. He shouldn't be having that kind of thought. He would be king; other people were just things to use, things to rule. He wrenched his thoughts onto another course, one more comfortable. "So if you lost your mace yesterday, how was it you almost killed that captain?"

Vellena shifted uncomfortably. "Sanguiferrous," she stated. The way she said the name, it sounded like she was naming a zanpakutō.

"Is that the big red sword?" he asked. She nodded, looking a little bit uncomfortable. Why wouldn't someone want to use their own zanpakutō? "Why don't you use it more often?"

"Because it has a tendency to take over my body when I fight for too long," she said. "The best way to keep it from taking over is not to use it. Sometimes it is the only choice, however."

"What makes it so different from your other weapons?"

She was quiet for a moment. "It's a Runesword. The others are weapons that I have added runes to. Sanguiferrous is extremely old, semi-intelligent, and very powerful. It is the reason I am the way I am now. Arthas ended my life and brought me back as one of his Scourge; Sanguiferrous made me a Death Knight."

Like a zanpakutō, yet still different, then. He thought about Pantera. The blade was part of what made him what he was – arrancar as opposed to just adjuchas. Pantera too, had a will, a form of intelligence. But it couldn't take him over. What did that involve? "So what happens when it takes over?" What did it matter, if it made her a better fighter?

"After a while I can no longer tell friend from foe. I just kill everything in sight until the blade is physically taken away from me. It's rather… inconvenient." Yeah, he guessed that might be. She continued, "It's a powerful weapon, though. When I use it, I'm stronger, faster, more lethal, and I can survive things that would otherwise destroy me. Sometimes the risk is worth it."

The mental image of Vellena on a bloodthirsty killing rage was kind of appealing. He bet she would look pretty hot like that. He gave a wry grin. Unfortunately, he could see her point – it would be inconvenient at the best and a damned disaster at the worst for her to embark on a mindless rampage. Immensely entertaining, no doubt, but definitely inconvenient. "I see."

They were silent a while. Then, "Shit I'm bored," Grimmjow complained. Vellena looked as though she might agree.

"Well," she said after a moment, meeting his eyes with a mischievous twinkle in her own, "There's _other_ ways to pass the time."

"Huh?" He watched as she rose and walked a few calm steps away, turning to look at him over her shoulder on the way to the bedroom. He rose with a grin, following her. He fancied seeing her tied up again.

* * *

Three days. Three days spent pretty much entirely in bed with Vellena. It kept Grimmjow's mind off the kid, whom he could feel getting closer and closer, kept him pleasantly distracted. However, when the shinigami and his pals finally broached the citadel, sex was no longer enough to distract him. He was restless, short tempered. He started pacing in the room. He felt like a caged animal.

Vellena eyed him with annoyance, but he didn't care. Finally, she sighed, pulled out her bags, and started the familiar ritual of preparing her weapons. He had seen her do this many times before – it was what she did instead of pacing.

After a while, he stopped, huffing. She paused in her ministrations to look up at him. "I'm going for a walk," he stated abruptly.

"Ok," she replied. She didn't say 'be careful', or 'stay out of trouble', or anything like that. Vellena wasn't like that, thank the gods. She didn't nag; she didn't gripe, moan or bitch. She was only submissive in the bedroom (which he liked a lot), but her lack of subservience never bothered him outside of it. He could always rely on her not to piss him off. Like right now.

He left his apartments, roaming the halls, tracking the brat's progress with his senses. The invasion party had split up, but he didn't care. He felt it when Aaroniro died, but he didn't care. He only cared about Kurosaki. He ground his teeth when he felt the boy's reiatsu clashing with that of that Privaron, Dordonii. When Kurosaki's reiatsu emerged victorious, he smiled. No one else was going to kill that kid; Grimmjow would do it or kill anyone who dared steal his _prey_.

When he felt Ulquiorra's reiatsu confront Kurosaki, he froze in his tracks, rage burning through every fibre of his being. When he felt Kurosaki fall, he howled his anger at the empty hall. How _dare_ Ulquiorra?! Bad enough that the tear-faced bastard stopped him from killing Kurosaki once already; how dare the little fucker steal Kurosaki's death too! He paused momentarily, thinking. The girl! The girl could heal Kurosaki back to normal, and then… then he would have his fight.

Finding the girl was no problem. He was a little surprised to discover the reiatsu of those foolish whores, Loly and Menoly, in her room. He blew the door in contemptuously. The girls froze in their beat-down of Orihime, giving him looks of abject fear.

"G…Grimmjow!" one stammered. He grinned, wide and hungry.

"Oi! Scampering in and having a little fun while Ulquiorra's away, are we?" The terror in their eyes pleased him immensely, but it wouldn't be enough to save them. He shut up Loly with his boot, and effortlessly blocked Menoly's idiotic attack. Methodically, he reduced them to broken, blasted heaps of flesh. Loly was dead.

There, that was repayment for his left arm, wasn't it? Now he had a job for her. Reluctantly, he sat through the healing of Loly and Menoly – he didn't really appreciate his handiwork being undone, but if it would get her to cooperate, so be it. Then he bound her, gagged her, and slung her over his shoulder. He had a brat to destroy.


	29. Ambushed

Vellena, too, was restless. With Grimmjow gone and her weapons prepared for any battles, she had nothing to do. So she followed his lead and left the apartments for the austere white halls. She too, felt it when Aaroniero died, felt Kurosaki's clashes with an unknown reiatsu and then with Ulquiorra. And then she felt Grimmjow's reiatsu surge in the vicinity of Orihime's room. Knowing that nothing good could come of whatever it was he was doing, she increased her pace. Now she had a destination.

She arrived to find the door to the girl's room gone, rubble everywhere, and two familiar looking arrancar females looking terrified.

They spotted her. "You're too late. Grimmjow's gone, and Ulquiorra's gone after him. By the time you catch up, Ulquiorra will have killed him," the black-haired one – Vellena rather thought her name was Loly, but she wasn't sure on that point – spat.

"If he hasn't killed Grimmjow, then Aizen-sama will. Aizen-sama is going to be seriously pissed off when he hears about this," the blonde said. Both girls gave Vellena baleful glares.

"I see," she said, impassively. Silently, she turned and walked away from the room. This was not good. Ulquiorra and Grimmjow – she hated to say it, but Grimmjow couldn't stand against the Cuarto.

When she felt their reiatsu burst, she broke into a run. She wasn't rationally thinking about what she might do about this – all she was thinking was that she had to get to Grimmjow, had to prevent him from making a terrible mistake. From getting himself… killed.

She traced the reiatsu, letting her feet carry her where they would. She was getting closer, she could feel it. This was certainly the right way. Close. So intent was she on her destination that she almost ran into Nnoitra.

Her swords were in her hands almost instantaneously as she skidded to a halt. The Quinto was leering at her, malice in his single eye.

"Where are you going in such a hurry, cunt?" he hissed. "Don't tell me you're rushing off to Grimmjow? Going to help him disobey Aizen? Maybe you're going back to rescue the girl yourself?"

"Fuck off, Nnoitra," she didn't have time for this.

"I'm not finished with you yet," he said, blocking the corridor with his blade. "We have a discussion we need to finish, you and I."

"If you wish to die, Nnoitra, keep this up. Otherwise, get out of my way," she snapped. He swung at her, grinning like a madman, heaving his axe around with breathtaking speed. She dodged easily, raising her swords to retaliate, blades already blazing with power. Elsewhere, she felt Grimmjow clash with Ulquiorra and Ulquiorra _vanish_. She couldn't be concerned with that right now.

"Not so fast." Nnoitra raised a device, pointing it at her. She eyed it uncertainly. "I'm afraid you're not going anywhere. Aizen-sama had… _concerns_ … about your loyalty. So he had Szayel fashion _this_." The tall Espada grinned at her. She felt a stab of concern. That feeling intensified a _whole_ lot when Nnoitra pressed a button, and she felt her runic power slip away, beyond her grasp. Reaching out with her reiatsu, she discovered suddenly that she _had none_.

Eyes wide, she stared at Nnoitra. "What have you done?" she demanded. This was _really not good_.

"Nice, isn't it? Something Szayel cooked up. You gave him enough material – your reiatsu, hundreds of hours of footage of you fighting Grimmjow… Really, now, bitch, what did you expect? To be returned home like a good little girl so you could go on your merry way?" His grin was positively evil. "This is just where _the fun begins_!"

She dodged his attacks. She couldn't back up her natural speed and agility now with sonido, but somehow she managed to avoid losing her head, or her limbs. Darting forward, she thrust her swords at his chest. He laughed maniacally, taking a few steps back to reveal himself as unharmed. She cursed. That damn hierro. Her blades alone could never touch him.

"I'm going to make you wish you were never born, you stupid bitch. You're going to beg for mercy before I'm done with you," the arrancar hissed.

She managed to avoid a few more of his lightning fast attacks before he finally connected. She went flying back, into the wall. Before she could recover, Nnoitra was there, kicking her. Fists and boots collided with her, the occasional broad-side smash with his axe. Bones cracked, her sluggish black blood oozed from cuts. With her power gone, she couldn't do much to prevent the assault. She was struggling just to keep herself whole. She focused on merely enduring, surviving.

There was an explosive rumble and two familiar reiatsus flared – Grimmjow and Kurosaki. She could feel it even with her own reiatsu gone, it was that powerful. Nnoitra paused, letting go of her collar. He turned from her; apparently certain she couldn't get away. But she could. She mustered just enough strength to roll away for a patch of shadow while his back was turned. Feeling like a coward, she used an ability she had never demonstrated, one that Szayel's fel device couldn't counter. Hueco Mundo was a land of eternal night, and she was a night elf. She vanished, fading completely into the shadows, thanking the fact that she hadn't left a blood-trail for him to track.

He turned back and did a sudden double take at seeing her gone. Suspicion gleamed in his single eye as he swung his axe against where she had been, scarring the wall deeply. It would have decapitated her if she was there. But she wasn't – she was yards away, and invisible, not even daring to breathe.

"I know you're around here, bitch!" Nnoitra snapped. Another surge of reiatsu from Grimmjow and his opponent caught his attention. He grinned. "Don't worry, cunt. I'll be back for you. You won't go very far in that state. I'll come back for you with Grimmjow's head, and then we'll really get started. Or maybe I'll let him live, and make him watch as I destroy you," he sneered, casting his voice around the corridor, eye darting from side to side as he attempted to spot her. Then he stalked off in the direction of the battle.

Vellena waited several minutes before moving, wanting to be absolutely certain he was gone. She couldn't extend her senses outside herself – she could feel the reaitsus that blazed when they brushed against her, but her own reiatsu was sluggish. It was returning, she thought, now that Nnoitra and his device were gone. But she was not recovering instantly.

Deal with the wounds first. In this state she wasn't going far indeed, and then she might as well just wait for Nnoitra to return and end it. She fumbled with her pack, finding a roll of bandages. She bound her ribs with difficulty, binding some of the cuts and slices while she was at it. She couldn't do much for her broken left arm besides putting it in a makeshift sling. She was a little surprised to find two healing potions in her bag while she was rummaging for the bandage – she quaffed one and felt a bit better. She couldn't drink the other until this one had a chance to process – too many healing potions in quick succession were known to be dangerous.

Leaving the shadows, she hoisted herself painfully to her feet. Slowly, she took a few hesitant steps down the corridor. When she didn't fall down, she kept going. She was aware that she was probably being watched – hundreds of hours of footage? She didn't know what footage was, but the implication was clear. How foolish of her to assume they had no way of monitoring, especially since she knew that the corridors, at least, were watched. Gin's fooling around had tipped her off to that.

Well, maybe he wasn't manning the monitoring device now, because she found her way to the blasted tower well enough, if slowly. Outside, she could feel the terrible pressure of Grimmjow and Kurosaki going at it.

She made her way past the rubble and out into the sands in time to see Grimmjow transform from his usual form, his sword disappearing, his body becoming more cat-like, covered in segmented armour, sprouting long, fuzzy ears and a tail, his blue hair growing _really_ long. This must be resurrección – Grimmjow had spoken of it once or twice. She had to admit, it suited him.

She took a moment to lean against the wall and watch the fight. There was nothing she could do right now. She could not sense Nnoitra; but she knew he was lurking around somewhere. He clearly hadn't spotted her, or she'd likely be dead already.

The sound of bells approaching caught her attention, sending her long ears twitching. She turned, using the wall for support, and faced the source. Feeling the incredible reiatsu of the oncoming shinigami roll over her like the crashing of waves in an Auberdine gale, she tried to stand a little straighter. For now, she was certainly dead; facing _that_ , she had no hope.


	30. Strange Conversations

"Ken-chan! Ken-chan! It's Bunny-chan! Just like Tōshirō said!" piped a little girl's voice. Vellena watched as the scarred, belled, eye-patched mountain of a human approached her resolutely; pink-haired girl in lieutenant's robes perched on his shoulder. She was completely unsurprised to see the white captain's robe on this ominous man. Where he came from, she had no clue, but she knew why he was here.

"If you're going to kill me, do it quick," Vellena said. The man came to a stop, staring down balefully at her.

"You're the one Hitsugaya told me about, the one who isn't an arrancar. I was gonna fight you, but someone already beat the shit out of you," he said. She was vaguely surprised to hear only a slight disappointment in his voice – no curses, no anger, and no tooth-gritting determination to end her pitiful existence; just a little bit of disappointment, like someone who just found out that the last sweet-bun got taken by his best friend or something.

"Nnoitra," she said. She doubted the name meant anything to him. "He'll be back to kill me when he's done with Grimmjow." She gestured at the fighting Sexto.

"That's one of these Espada?" asked the giant man.

"The fifth," she confirmed. He grinned. She could see a twinkle of bloodlust in his eye.

"That's great! I can't wait to meet him." He licked his lips. "Where did your armour go?"

"Destroyed beyond my ability to repair. Hitsugaya did that," she replied. This was so fucking bizarre. She could feel by this guy's reiatsu that he could obliterate her in a matter of seconds, especially weakened, injured, and stripped of her powers as she was right now. Yet here he was, chatting her up casually, mildly disappointed that he wasn't going to get a chance to kick her ass in a fair fight. It felt surreal.

"You left this behind." He reached behind his back and pulled out her mace. She stared at it for a moment before reaching to accept it.

"Thank you."

"It's really a shame you're so beat up. I was looking forward to seeing how you fought."

"I'm sorry," she said. Gods this was so fucking weird.

"So why did an Espada do this to you? I thought you guys were supposed to be on the same side."

"Not any more. It appears that I am no longer welcome here," she said, and she knew it was true. There was no going back now. Whatever happened to her or Grimmjow, she wouldn't be going back to the way things had been the last month. Either Nnoitra would kill them, or someone else would. Someone noticed when she visited Orihime the other day, and someone put two and two together. Her loyalty was suspect – that Nnoitra was released with that device was proof of that. Grimmjow wasn't going to get off easily either – if he won against Kurosaki he might survive, but if he lost and wasn't killed, well… he had been demoted once for disobedience. She didn't think he'd survive it this time.

"So what are you going to do?" The man-mountain sounded genuinely curious.

"Try to survive the next few hours, regain my power, and go home. Back to Azeroth, the world I'm from," she replied calmly. "I'm sick of Aizen's treachery." She sighed. There was no doubt in her mind he was behind at least some of this. That man was too manipulative, too canny. How she had ever trusted him, she didn't know.

"Damned kidō-wielding prick. I never trusted that bastard." He was silent for a moment as they watched the fight. "What happened to your power?"

"Nnoitra had a device. It took my reiatsu, my rune power, everything except a few night elf tricks I was born with. It's starting to come back now, but it's not enough," she sighed.

"That doesn't sound very fair, or like much of a challenge."

"No. Nnoitra is not a very fair person, and he wasn't interested in a challenge."

"I want to meet this guy."

"Stick around, and you'll get your chance. He's waiting for this to finish, then he intends to kill Grimmjow. He'll probably kill Kurosaki too if the kid isn't already dead. Nnoitra's kind of a fucker like that," she remarked.

"It's really too bad I don't know any healing kidō. I could heal you up and then we could have a go. I don't know any kidō though," he said, conversationally.

"I am sorry to disappoint," she stated.

"Ken-chan! I see Big Boobies!" the little girl, who had watched their exchange with more or less silence, cut in. She was bouncing on the giant man's back, pointing to the top of a half-destroyed red pillar. The man turned his head and followed the little girl's pointing finger.

"So you did, Yachiru-chan!" he smiled. Vellena didn't feel any safer looking at that smile. "Orihime could patch you up. What did you say your name was?" he turned his attention back to the night elf.

"Vellena Nightwind, Knight of the Ebon Blade."

"I'm Zaraki Kenpachi, Captain of the 11th."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Captain Zaraki," she said.

At that moment, the fight between Grimmjow and Kurosaki came to its conclusion, with Kurosaki grabbing the limp form of Grimmjow before the blue-haired arrancar could plummet to the ground. They sank to the sands.

Vellena sighed. "Stupid, pig-headed, obsessed idiot." She muttered.

"Which one?" asked Captain Zaraki. "I thought you weren't friends with any of them anymore."

She sighed again. "Grimmjow, and… I don't know. I'm not friends with any of the others, but… Grimmjow is a special case. Besides, they're not likely to go easy on _him_ either. This is twice now he's broke ranks. Last time he lost his arm over it."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

What _was_ she going to do about it? She looked at the still form of Grimmjow lying in the sand, peripherally aware that the battered shinigami boy was rising to the top of the pillar to retrieve Orihime (and another little girl; seriously, what was with all the little girls in Hueco Mundo?). What did she feel right now? Sorrow. Everything was coming crashing down. She was still half certain they were both going to end up dead before the day was out. She didn't want that. She didn't want to see Grimmjow die. Did she love him? She still didn't know. But she didn't want to see him die; and she no longer wished to stay here in Las Noches. Those were the only two things she knew.

"I don't—," she began, and cut off when Grimmjow rose once more, releasing his resurrección in a blue buzz, once again resuming his old, familiar form. She saw him take a few steps towards Kurosaki, clearly intent on continuing until he _died_. "Goddamn idiot, he's going to get himself killed," she said. And then she stiffened, freezing in shock as Nnoitra's oh-so-familiar and oh-so-hated weapon came from out of nowhere and cut Grimmjow down. She hissed in anger. "Nnoitra!"

"That's him?" Zaraki asked, following the weapon to its wielder with his eyes. "Doesn't look like much."

But she was already gone, stumbling towards the battlefield with death in her heart, pulling Sanguiferrous from her bags. Her power was returning. Enough to use the Runeblade – she could feel her body moving more easily, the aches fade to nothing as she gripped it. The red veil rose in her eyes. It was time to end this.


	31. Clash

Grimmjow could barely keep his eyes open. Hell, he could barely keep himself breathing. Nnoitra's attempted coup de gras had almost been the end of him. Kurosaki had saved him. It should have burned him up, but he couldn't quite summon the internal strength for the anger, the outrage. He was dying, and he knew it.

_You're wrong, Kurosaki_. He thought to himself. _I have—had something worth living for_. Was that still the case? He'd been too involved with his battle with Kurosaki to probe when he felt Vellena's reiatsu disappear entirely. Nnoitra was involved, and now Nnoitra was here, had tried to kill _him_ , and was fighting Kurosaki. If Nnoitra was here, it was because he had won.

The idea of Vellena being dead bothered him. He would have never admitted it prior to this, but knowing his own death was coming, that kind of changed things. He could admit it now, he'd gotten… _attached_. Aizen had ordered him to bind her to them; well, he thought he'd succeeded in binding her to _him_. But in the process, the reverse also became true. What was this? It was commonly held that an arrancar, being a hollow, could not _love_. But arrancar weren't just hollows – they had been… shinigamified. And shinigami could love. Did he love? He rather thought he would die without finding out. What _was_ this?

He sighed. He knew he was hooped now. He'd lost, again. This time he wasn't going to get out of it cleanly. He'd had his fair fight with a healed Kurosaki – Orihime even healed _him_ at the kid's insistence. Grimmjow had fought, given it every iota of his being, and lost. Tōsen would no doubt kill him, if he didn't die in the sands here. It was pretty likely that he would die here, within the hour. The coldness of his limbs told him he'd lost a lot of blood, and he couldn't quite focus the energy to move his limbs. He felt so goddamn thirsty.

He turned his head towards the clash, where a beleaguered Kurosaki was being protected by a well-built, aqua-haired arrancar. She looked familiar… wasn't she the old Tercera, the one who had disappeared? Come to think of it, she bore an uncanny resemblance to the little toddler Kurosaki had been dragging around… Grimmjow put two and two together, and smirked despite the difficulty of making an expression. The former Tercera Espada, Neliel Tu Oderschvank, was facing off against Nnoitra to protect a _shinigami_. It was worth a few moments of humorous thoughts; gods knew he couldn't laugh right now, but he could _think_ it funny.

Tesla had Orihime, zanpakutō ready, obviously keeping her from escaping or interfering while his master took out the brats. That was Tesla; always the perfect fracción. No independent thought, no initiative, no balls, no ability to win a damn fight; but man, he could take direction well.

A sudden surge of familiar, blood-soaked reiatsu caught his attention. He struggled to move his head, to see if it was really who he thought it was… She was alive somehow… She strode into view, that huge red sword in one hand. The other was in a sling made from some weird blue material. He could see more of that stuff wrapping her body – bandages of some sort. Her gaze fixed on Tesla, then Nnoitra, and then back to Tesla again, and he swore he could feel her rage crisp the air from where he lay in the sands. She raised that sword, and took several steps towards Tesla.

He watched as Tesla raised his zanpakutō to threaten Orihime – he had a hostage and he was going to damn well make sure Vellena knew it. She just raised her hands and lashed out with her death grip. No finesse, no sonido, just _whoop_ , lasso Tesla, and the damn fracción had no choice but to let Orihime stumble to the ground, unharmed, as he was spun straight into the Death Knight's waiting blade.

Grimmjow saw flashes of green, blue and red, sensed the familiar discharge of her runes, and then felt it as she _drew_ energy from Tesla – he had enough knowledge of rune magic now to know that she'd just used the very runes she'd inflicted on the guy to leech his own strength for herself. The huge blade flashed. The fracción dropped to his knees, eye wide in fear. Tesla had never even had a chance to react. He fell to the sand; dead or dying. Vellena let him drop, straightening and turning back to face Nnoitra, moving a little more easily. She viciously tore off the sling, freeing her now-unharmed left hand.

From the sands, the dying Espada realized her eyes were no longer blue. They had taken on a distinctly blood tinged glow.

"Bitch? You're still alive? Couldn't wait for me to come get you?" Nnoitra spotted the night elf, taunting her from across the sands. He raised a device and pointed it at her. Before he could threaten her further, a bolt of something nasty flew from her hands. Grimmjow thought he recognized it – it was the technique she had used to heal herself a few times, and had accidentally healed Nnoitra with the time they 'sparred'. She called it 'death coil', and tried to teach him, but he hadn't quite got it down just yet. Her target this time was not Nnoitra; it was the device in his hands. It shattered, the suddenness causing the Quinto to take a step back.

Neliel had stopped her attacks on Nnoitra to watch this newcomer approach. Kurosaki was in the sand… actually, not too far from Grimmjow. The Sexto checked him out – the kid was badly wounded but conscious, and watching the proceedings.

"Nnoitra," Vellena's voice sounded more metallic than usual. "I have lost all patience with you. Prepare yourself." She raised her weapon, and everyone on the battlefield could sense the grim, crackling energy that surrounded it. " _Nnoitra!_ " her voice was thick with rage as she charged, screaming. He saw the Quinto raise Santa Teresa, lashing out with incredibly speed. She parried aside his blade like it was nothing more than a flying feather, and kept on going.

Grimmjow suddenly realized he was going to get a chance to see her when the blade took over after all. The moves she was using were hers, but not hers. She seemed heedless to the damage; taking some hits in order to get him, parrying or dodging the lethal ones. Nnoitra wasn't faring so hot – she was scoring on him quite frequently, and every time she did, some of her wounds would close up and she would get stronger.

She really was going to keep going until either she died or Nnoitra did, the Sexto realized. And he realized that she would probably just keep on killing, too, just as she said she would.

"Kuro—," he coughed, blood bubbling to his lips, and tried again to croak out some words, "Kurosaki." The shinigami kid turned to face him. The look in his eyes – a mixture of concern, pity and surprise, pissed Grimmjow off, but it wasn't like he could do much about it right now.

"Grimmjow—," the kid began, but the Espada cut him off.

"Shut up, Kurosaki, and listen," he coughed again. "When she's done with Nnoitra, she's going to keep going. You gotta get her sword from her hands somehow, you understand?"

"What?"

Grimmjow rolled his eyes. "Just fucking do it, Kurosaki. Disarm her. Once she's killed Nnoitra."

"Uh… ok."

Oh, he had been right – she was utterly hot. Streaked in both her own black blood and Nnoitra's pleasant red blood, she fought like a demon. If he'd had any blood of his own to divert to something other than keeping him alive, he probably would have gotten hard just watching her in action. She was a thing of unholy beauty, lethal and bloodthirsty. A woman after his own heart. He smiled weakly.

The reiatsu surge when Nnoitra released his resurrección nearly knocked Grimmjow unconscious, but he managed to hold on just a little longer. Nnoitra's wounds healed as the Quinto regenerated rapidly, swinging four weapons at Vellena. The Death Knight was apparently unperturbed, finally utilizing sonido to dodge. The ferocity with which she attacked was still impressive.

Nnoitra lost limbs, regenerating them with screamed obscenities. He even pulled out his third and final pair of arms – he always held those back in fights. Still, she attacked. Grimmjow noted that Nnoitra's ability to regenerate was no longer so instantaneous – it was starting to take him longer and longer to bring shit back. Severed limbs littered the sand around the combatants like some kind of gruesome garden of flesh and weapons.

Vellena took a lucky (unlucky?) strike that opened quite a significant portion of her torso up, but managed to deal something similar to Nnoitra. When he next saw her, the wound had closed. She just kept on going.

A new reiatsu approached where Grimmjow and Kurosaki were. Grimmjow had to close his eyes and hold on to his consciousness with all his will. When he opened them again, another shinigami was standing near Kurosaki, who was gaping at him. Grimmjow could make out the white haori, the symbols for '11' written on them, and the pink-haired girl on the guy's shoulder. Zaraki Kenpachi, captain of the 11th, one of the deadliest motherfuckers in existence. Grimmjow would have laughed if he could have.

"Damn it, I wanted to fight her. And him," Kenpachi complained quietly. Kurosaki did a double take.

"Kenpachi!" the kid shouted.

The kid started to ask some question, but Grimmjow couldn't hold on any longer. He gave one final cough, and turned his gaze one more time to where Vellena was about to kill Nnoitra, and closed his eyes, vaguely aware that this was probably the last time. Everything went black.


	32. Blood in the Sand, Redux

Vellena was barely consciously aware of anything now but her and her opponent. The opponent who just wouldn't seem to die. Sanguiferrous's bloodlust was fully in control, and she fought relentlessly, but the fucker just wouldn't fall down. She took hits, barely aware of them, that healed almost immediately after when she took his blood from him again and again and again.

Her world was blood, frost, and screaming death. Everything was crimson. Sanguiferrous flashed in the light, taking limbs, sucking blood, funneling continued strength to Vellena. It just fuelled her dire onslaught further. Finally, she hacked and hacked, and when she raised her sword to attack again, there were no weapons blocking her.

A peripheral part of her was aware that Nnoitra was gazing at her with an expression of abject joy; almost rapture. All his arms were gone, yet he was grinning from ear to ear. Something flared in his sole eye, that almost looked like something she'd seen once or twice in Grimmjow's eyes after they'd fucked - something almost tender. Then it went out as her sword pierced his chest cavity, punching through ribs, lungs, heart… he was dead before he hit the sand.

Her power surged uncontrollably as she took his life. Her wounds were healed almost fully. But she wasn't done yet, oh no. There was more blood to be spilled, waiting out here for her. She raised her blood-spattered head. Sanguiferrous was _hungry_ , and so was _she_. She licked Nnoitra's blood off her blade, off her hands, and turned her crimson gaze to the battlefield.

Spotting a nearby victim, she charged, voice raised in a metallic roar. But she didn't make it to the aqua-haired woman; something jumped in front of her and blocked her sword. Something that jingled with the sound of bells. A mountain of a man stood in front of her, halting her progress.

"You seem healthy enough for me," she heard him say. She merely bared bloody teeth in a ghastly grin and struck again. Again, he parried. She swung wildly at him, fast as lightning. Parry, parry, parry, _made it through_! Blood sprayed from a wound in his shoulder, landing against her face. She licked what she could and kept going. He got in a few hits, further shredding her already destroyed clothing and sending black blood arcing into the sand. Those healed when she landed another on him.

There was no strategy; no finesse. The Death Knight attacked as though she were possessed, which she was. The Runeblade had her firmly in its grip, driving her with its overriding bloodlust. She was relentless, not holding back one erg of her energy in her attack. Her opponent was laughing, his eye shining with pure, unadulterated joy.

She staggered back a few steps as he pulled away the eye patch to reveal a glowing yellow eye, blazing with reiatsu. Tossing away the patch, he pressed on, attacking her. She began losing ground. Still she fought on. The damage was starting to pile up – she was scoring fewer hits and he was scoring more. Still she fought on. She lashed out with her rune magic, sending fel disease and unholy energy at her opponent. He kept coming. She blasted him with a howling gale. He kept coming.

"Kenpachi! Disarm her!" a raw scream penetrated her ears. She ignored it, swinging at the opponent in front of her. Nothing mattered but him, his blood on her blade.

"Ken-chan is having fun, Berry-kun!" a high pitched voice chirped. The man in front of her grinned. Vellena was forced backwards, on her knees.

"Disarm her!" shouted that voice again. Whose was it? Did it matter?

She raised the sword to block, still attempting to get through his relentless guard, steal back a little strength. He struck like a mountain coming down on her. Metal ground against metal, sparks flew. Then he reached out and grabbed her blade, heedless of the bloody wound its vicious edge opened in his hand. With a mighty jerk, he wrenched Sanguiferrous from her grip, tossing the blood-soaked blade aside.

Her strength vanished. The red that washed the world receded. She returned to her senses long enough to gaze up at Zaraki Kenpachi with a slightly surprised look before pitching over into the sand. Everything went black.

* * *

She wasn't out for long. Something was slapping her face insistently and none to gently. She cracked open an eye. It was that monstrous shinigami captain.

"I'm alive?" she croaked. He grinned.

"That was a _great_ fight," he said.

She groaned, sitting up. She wasn't precisely sure what had happened, other than Sanguiferrous took over. So she said, "What the hell happened. Where's Nnoitra?"

Captain Zaraki gestured, and she looked over, to see a corpse lying in the sand. Nnoitra's dead face was still grinning. The sight jogged her memory. She remembered killing him.

"Oh," she said. "Where's Grimmjow?" Another gesture, and she followed the pointing finger to see the Espada on his back, eyes closed. Was he dead? She got unsteadily to her feet, and almost fell over. The strong arm of the captain kept her from pitching headlong back into the ground. "Thanks," she muttered.

"No problem."

"Where is my sword?" Again Zaraki pointed, this time to the ground nearby. She spotted Sanguiferrous, covered in blood and sand. It needed cleaned badly, but damned if she was going to touch it right now. This soon after a full on thrall and it wouldn't take much for her to be back in a state of mindless bloodlust. She swallowed. "Captain Zaraki. Could you do me a favour?"

"What do you need?"

"Pick up my sword, and put it in this bag," she fumbled at her belt, pulling out one of her magic bags. Her broken armor was already in it.

Zaraki gave her an odd look, but he reached for the sword nonetheless, and held it out. She opened the bag. He gave her another odd look.

"It'll fit, trust me."

"If you say so." He raised the sword and aimed it point down into the bag. His eyes widened as the enormous sword vanished into the teeny tiny bag. "That's a neat trick."

"Magic bag."

"Nice."

"Ken-chan! Ken-chan! Bunny-chan is gonna be alright?" the little girl capered nearby. The huge man reached down and lifted her up to his back.

"You gonna be alright, Vellena?" he asked.

"Yeah, I think so. Could you help me over to Grimmjow?"

"Yeah."

She was so exhausted. Zaraki had to almost carry her. Would she have enough energy left…? Don't think about it. Just… go see if Grimmjow lived or died. Zaraki let her sink to the sand beside her fallen lover. Her hand went to his neck. She sighed. There was a pulse, weak but there.

"He still lives," she said, relieved. She looked around – perhaps Orihime… but where was the girl? "Where is Inoue?"

"Some asshole took her, a guy with brown hair and gloves." That was Kurosaki – voice full of anger.

"Starrk," Vellena said. She was unsurprised that he hadn't interfered beyond that. Starrk was the laziest guy in the universe.

"What are you going to do now?" It was the kid. She raised her eyes to him. He, the giant captain, and the little girl were all staring at her with expectant looks.

"I'm going to go home," she said.

"That's a pity. You're the best fight I've had in ages," Captain Zaraki said. She smiled weakly.

"What about Grimmjow?" Kurosaki asked.

She looked down at the fallen Espada. What about Grimmjow? It was a good question. He was still alive. If he stayed here, she had no doubt that Aizen would execute him. For disobedience, for failure – the reason didn't matter. What about Grimmjow… Orihime's words from several days ago returned to her. The girl's awkward phrasing aside, she understood what the girl was getting at. It had been intended to reassure Orihime that Grimmjow wasn't all crazy asshole, but the sentiment had stuck with Vellena.

If someone could love Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, perhaps Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez could love someone in return. She sat for a long moment, looking at the arrancar.

Grimmjow was dead if he stayed. He would die soon, right here in the dirt, if she didn't do something. She remembered the healing potion in her pack, and brought it out. Kurosaki asked what she was doing as she uncorked the flask and tilted Grimmjow's head. She ignored him, beginning the tricky process of getting a potion into an unconscious person.

As the last of the red liquid finally vanished down his throat, she noted the colour returning to his skin, the wound in his neck closing, and his breathing becoming easier, more noticeable. He was merely unconscious now, no longer unconscious and dying. She bandaged him, wrapping him in the thick frostweave bandages. Kurosaki and Zaraki watched.

"What are you going to do with him?" Kurosaki asked as she stood up.

"I'm going to take him with me."

"What?!" She met the young human's gaze.

"He lost to you. If he stays here, he won't live to see tomorrow." Kurosaki looked at her uncomprehendingly. "He failed. He'll be executed," she clarified. He blanched.

"Aizen would do that?" he asked, tone full of disbelief.

"Aizen would do that. Aizen… is an evil bastard," she said. Zaraki laughed.

"I always said that shithead was bad news," the captain said.

"Yes. I pray he cannot follow me to Azeroth. We already have our own home-grown evil bastard that needs destroying," she said.

"I'd love to visit your world sometime. It sounds like a fun place," Zaraki said.

"How are you going to go?" Kurosaki asked. She stood up.

"Like this." She concentrated, marshalling the last of her flagging energy. A skull-topped frame rose from the dirt. A second later, a garganta yawned within it. She gave a little sigh of relief – she had been half afraid this wouldn't work, and half afraid she wouldn't have the power to do it. She sagged, leaning on the ghastly frame for support.

Then, she leaned down and lifted the heavy, limp form of the unconscious Grimmjow and slung him over her shoulder.

"Farewell, Captain Zaraki, Lieutenant Yachiru, Kurosaki Ichigo. Ande'thoras-ethil. May your troubles be diminished. Do not attempt to follow me, please," she stepped through the gate, moving slowly with the burden of her companion, but nevertheless moving.

After a few paces, the garganta/Death Gate behind her winked out of existence. She walked along the path that formed under her feet, silver mottled through with black and green. She walked for a long time. A very long time.


	33. Epilogue

Siouxsie the Banshee was unsurprised when yet another gate opened at the Ebon Hold, even if this one did seem slightly different from the norm. Death Gates opened fairly frequently here, after all.

She was slightly more surprised when a familiar looking night elf stumbled through, dressed in a filthy, blood-spattered, mostly destroyed outfit that might have once been white, and with a strange, unconscious, blue-haired human slung over her shoulder.

"Vellena Nightwind?" Siouxsie asked, momentarily forgetting the annoying Squire Edwards at her side. "You were presumed dead when you did not deliver your routine missive to Thassarian, over a month ago. We had your funeral last week."

Vellena looked up, and Siouxsie could plainly see the exhaustion in the other Death Knight's stolid face.

"Was it a good funeral, at least?" Vellena asked.

"Good enough. Where have you been?"

"In another world."

Siouxsie looked the other night elf up and down, including the strange human in her assessment. Her eyes narrowed in speculation as she took in the piece of bone that seemed to be stuck to the side of his jaw, and the hole that she could see in his back from her perspective on the back of her mount. She took in Vellena's strange clothing, and the very odd power that seemed to cling to the other Death Knight. Another world. It might very well be the case.

"I think I believe you," said the Banshee. "Who is that?"

No need to specify whom she was talking about. There was only one other being that it could be.

"Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, former Sexto Espada of the arrancar army of Aizen."

"That's all Taurahe to me," Siouxsie stated. She nodded to herself. Definitely another world.

"My companion; and he's pretty badly wounded. I think I saved him from perishing, but he might still cross the gates."

"You didn't bring him to the right place if you are hoping for medical attention," Siouxsie replied. "Unless he's undead."

"Kind of," said Vellena. "He's from the world of the dead in his realm. While he's not the same as we, he's similar enough, I suppose. Death coil heals others like him. I haven't tried it on him yet."

"Then we might be able to do something for him after all," Siouxsie said.

"Have you given away my chambers yet?" Vellena asked.

"No. There hasn't exactly been an influx of new Death Knights," Siouxsie grinned. "Come along, Knight Vellena, and let us see what can be done for your companion. You have a story to tell, I think, and I am interested in hearing it. I will not be the only one."

Siouxsie dismounted from her steed, leaving its reins in the hands of Squire Edwards. The two undead night elves wandered further into the necropolis together, Grimmjow still slung over Vellena's shoulder.


End file.
